


The Very Thought of You

by Elensule



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elensule/pseuds/Elensule
Summary: The world is a hard place, but it is especially difficult for men like Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, forced to hide their love by society's rules. True love torn apart by the War and by time, can long lost lovers heal each other? Or will their love end as so many have before, stifled by a world that does not support their love? It would take a Christmas miracle to bring healing to their hearts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weirdwithhumor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdwithhumor/gifts).



> For the Christmas fic exchange for Weirdwithhumor. I wasn't able to use all your prompts, though I did really like the starry hand which informed the overall feel of this fic for me. I really hope you like it even though it wasn't exactly what you asked for. 
> 
> Thanks so much to Lisa, as always, for the beta and cheering me on, and thanks to Zephyrchrysalis for the amazing cover. 
> 
> All the songs referenced in this fic are sung by Nat King Cole. I attempted to stay as accurate in the timeline as possible, and most of this fic should be fairly canon accurate. Nathaniel Prince is a fictional singer who was created to sing songs that existed when I needed them sung but Nat King Cole had not recorded yet. So. There's that. A list of songs will be in the notes at the very end of this fic. Civil War didn't happen, I reject that. That's my most major departure from canon; Bucky Barnes did not kill Tony Stark's parents. That is all. Please enjoy this very fluffy (sort of ) fic. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!

“You don’t have to look so glum.” Steve blinked away from looking at the candles on the window sill when Bucky spoke. The flames glittered in the evening light, the frost on the window catching and reflecting softly. The radio played quietly, jazz filling the room with its mellow beat but not so loudly as to prevent them from talking. Steve hadn’t been listening to a word he’d said, too lost in thought. Damn unfair winters. He stifled a cough, even though his lungs rattled with every indrawn breath. He didn’t want Bucky to be worried. 

“I know, it isn’t how I’d like to spend my Christmas season either,” Bucky continued, “but the Army, in all its wisdom, has decided December is when I have to go.” He’d received word a few weeks before about shipping out, leaving Steve alone in their New York apartment. The letter lay on the table, a taunting reminder that Steve would never be Good Enough. Even now, when they were literally stealing men from their homes to meet the needs at the front, Steve was still too weak, too sick. He shivered from his spot on the couch, where Bucky had cocooned him right after dinner. 

“I still can’t believe you’re shipping out tomorrow,” he said, fighting hard to keep the petulance out of his voice. Bucky didn’t deserve that, even if he were going where Steve wished he could go, to fight for what was right, to protect his soulmate. He’d be there in a heartbeat if he could, and instead Bucky was going alone, somewhere Steve couldn’t follow.

“Aww, Punk,” Bucky said from the sink. “Don’t be that way, huh?” He finished washing out their soup bowls and then crossed the small room to Steve’s blanket pile. “I know, this isn’t what we dreamed of. Hell, this isn’t even close. But I don’t want our last night like this. Fighting.” Especially when it was a useless fight, one they’d had a thousand times.

"I know Buck. It's just not right." Steve shook his head and shifted up against the back of the couch to give Bucky space to come and sit. "You had plans, school..." Well, the school was a little less likely. Big dreams led to bigger disappointments, after all, but Bucky had been working on the docks for ages now, and they always needed reliable men. He could have advanced, become a foreman maybe. If the stupid war hadn't come up and knocked them all off guard, that is. 

"I know, Steve." Bucky fiddled with the radio dial for a minute, until it started to play a bit more loudly. The music program after dinner was their favorite way to spend the evening, especially since they couldn’t go out together without other dates for cover. "Lotsa things in life ain’t right, or fair. But this will all work out, you’ll see. You're my soulmate, so I'll be able to send my check back to you. At least you won't have to work so hard when you're sick." He slid onto the couch and pulled Steve against him, blankets and all. "You know you need the rest, Punk, so don't lie."

"I'm going to be fine," Steve replied stubbornly, ignoring the way that Bucky narrowed his eyes. Of course, his pretense was ruined by the thick, wet cough that reverberated from his chest when he took a deep breath. Damn it. He didn't want Buck to worry when he was at the front, but he could tell that his soulmate was going to no matter what. The heavy handed pat on the back to loosen the phlegm told him that.

"Steve..." Buck blew out a slow breath, his heart pounding. He hated leaving Steve when he was like this, but he also knew that his lover hated to be babied. "No, you know, you’re right. You’ll be fine." He smiled softly and kissed Steve's forehead. "It's all going to be fine. The Anderson sisters down the hall said they'd check on you. And it's not like I'll be gone forever. How much trouble could you get into without me?"

Steve smiled a watery smile, shrugging, deciding to let Bucky’s comment about finding him some babysitters pass. "Good question, jerk... I guess that all depends on how much trouble is around for me to get into." He looked around the small room. Even as small as it was, it would feel empty without Bucky’s presence filling it up with laughter. "You could still go out, you know. I never wanted you to miss the Expo." Like most of his illnesses, Steve’s cough had taken fast and hard, ruining their plans to go on a double date to the Stark Expo. Steve would have liked one last night of dancing and fun before Bucky was off to the front, even if he’d had to dance with Connie, or Bonnie, instead of Bucky. To go and see if the world was going to change irrevocably around them while Bucky was gone. 

"Without you? Where would the fun be in that?" Bucky knew he'd disappointed his date, probably her sister too, but hell, he was leaving in the morning for training. No one cared about keeping up a front when it was just going to be moot in a few days, just like no one was going to question his relationship with his soulmate when he was gone. It was common enough to room with your soulmate, after all, even if it was supposed to be a platonic bond, and without a spouse to send money home to, no one would question why he’d send his money home to Steve. 

"It's not about fun," Steve answered stubbornly. "It's about enjoying your last night in town! Didn't you just the other day say you wanted to go dancing? To spin a pretty dame around?" He shook his head. Bucky's warmth settled into his chest and felt so good. He hated that his relationship to Bucky meant that his lover had to hide. "And what about finding a dame you want to bring home to your mama, huh?"

Bucky shoved at his shoulder. "Hey! Enough of that. I said I wanted to go dancing, but you know I’d only be there so I could pretend I was dancing with you." He shook his head. "You know you're it for me, Steve." His voice dropped, serious now. "Until the end of the line, remember?" He bent down and kissed Steve softly, first on the brow, then on the lips. "I don't want no dame, haven't since I met that scrawny little kid out there taking on two guys bigger than himself for someone else's benefit." He shook his head. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. There's no dame for me."

As always, the warmth of Bucky's words settled in against Steve's heart. The mark on his wrist, a circle surrounding a star, warmed too. He rubbed his thumb over it, secure in the reminder that even the universe knew he and Buck were meant to be together. It didn't matter what anyone else thought, because he had the only one he cared about right here with him. 

"Yeah, I know... You're right." He coughed again and shivered, then nuzzled his head under Bucky's chin. Sometimes it felt awful to know that he was small, sickly, too much of both to be useful. But sometimes, when Bucky sat here with him like this, he just felt safe, and he couldn’t regret being small enough to take advantage of it. “I just don’t want you to regret…” This. Me. Us. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Bucky deserved everything. 

The music began to croon again, and Bucky smiled as the voice of their favorite singer, Nathaniel Prince, filled the small apartment. "Hey, Punk... You wanted to dance, right?" He pushed the blankets back, letting the cold air slide in against Steve's skin. "Come dance with me... One last time." 

Steve shivered faintly as the blankets fell away, but he pushed up anyway. His feet were covered in thick wool socks, and Bucky’s heaviest over shirt fell over his wrists like gloves. Steve shoved the sleeves up to free his hands, and as always, Bucky’s eyes went immediately to the mark there. “I still can’t believe you’re mine,” Bucky murmured, drawing Steve in against him. He was careful not to tread on his lover’s toes. 

_For all we know… We may never meet again…_ Bucky sang along quietly, holding Steve close as they slow danced through the tiny living room. There wasn’t much space, between the couch and the bed, but they swayed together anyhow. _Before we go… Make this moment sweet again…_ Steve fought back tears as the song continued. If this were a bully, something he could rail at for the sheer _unfairness_ of it, he would. But instead he just swayed slowly in Bucky’s arms, listening to Prince’s smooth voice fill the room. 

_For all we know, yes, tomorrow may never, never come… For all we know…_ Even Bucky’s voice broke a little as he sang the last line along with Prince, finally pulling away from Steve just a little. His eyes were red rimmed, and Steve felt a little better for how close he was to tears. 

“Well that’s a mood killer,” Steve cracked, clearing his throat after he spoke when he realized how broken he sounded. “I… I guess we’d best get to bed, huh? You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” And it went without saying that Steve would see him off, at the very least. 

“Yeah… Yeah.” Bucky wiped his eyes fiercely before nodding to the door. “C’mon, I’ll walk to the bathroom with you. An early night sounds good.” They ventured into the chilly hall together, still subdued. Steve was grateful they didn’t run into anyone on their way there or back, after they’d brushed their teeth and done their ablutions. He didn’t feel like playing the joking best friend tonight, didn’t think his mask would hold up that well when all he really wanted was to hold his lover close and never let him go. 

In their apartment, Steve swapped his trousers for long underwear, but shimmied Bucky’s shirt back on for warmth. He crawled into their double bed, their one indulgence, and let Bucky pull him close under the covers Buck had rescued from the couch.

“You’d better come home to me, jerk,” Steve said, holding Bucky’s arm across his chest like a shield. “You’d better, or I’ll kick your ass.” 

Bucky huffed out a laugh against Steve’s hair. “Sure thing, punk. You know you’ve never been able to get rid of me for long, anyway.” He tangled their legs together, letting his warmth seep into Steve as much as he could. “I love you, and I’ll be with you ‘til the end of the line. This is just a little detour, that’s all.”

“I love you, too,” Steve said with a huff that turned into a cough. He spoke again when he caught his breath. “That’s why you can’t get yourself shot.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s bicep, all he could reach from his current position. The words from the song earlier continued running through his head. For all they knew, their tomorrow would never come, could be cut short at any moment. He fought sleep, desperate to memorize every moment of his time here with Bucky. Eventually, as it always did, sleep won. He drifted off tucked up against Bucky’s chest, conscious that this might be the very last time.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

_December 25, 1942_

_Buck,_

_I know you won’t get this for ages. But it’s Christmas, and I just had to send this. I hope you are keeping safe, and warm. I’m keeping you in my thoughts, every day._

_The weather here has been good. Cold but not so much that I can’t go out. The Delaney sisters invited me for Christmas supper tonight, so I can’t stay long. Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you. You keep yourself safe. I’ll be waiting when you come back to New York._

_F.R.A.N.C.E_

_Steve_

The first three months were the hardest. Bucky had been a staple of his Christmases ever since they were young, and Steve felt his lack keenly. Too, the bed had never felt so big, or so cold, since he and Bucky had moved in together. Steve was used to his soulmate’s bulk at his back, or taking up space in the kitchen. The place never was truly quiet, what with people around him at all ends of the hallway, but without Bucky singing along to the radio or asking Steve what he thought of this and that, it felt practically tomb-still.

His illness lingered, as it often did in the colder months, but come Spring Steve was finally feeling better. He tried to focus on work, on school, on the letters he was sending and receiving from Buck. It worked, to an extent, but Steve still saw the last of the young men leaving, to go off to war. Every day alone in the apartment made him feel worse and more useless. He went to every recruitment center around, giving name after fake name, until _finally_ he was pulled aside by a Dr. Erskine at one of the centers. 

“You, you have a Soulmate, boy?” He reached for Steve’s hand, tugging it forward when Steve hesitated. 

“Yes, I do,” Steve said as the doctor pushed his sleeve up to see the little raised star and circle on the inside of his wrist. The doctor rubbed a clinical thumb over it, and Steve hissed and jerked back as warmth shot up his arm. It wasn’t the gentle tingling like when Steve touched his own mark, or the soft, protective warmth that followed when Bucky teased it with fingertips after they made love. No, this was a flaring fire, so hot that Steve’s arm tingled even after Erskine let his hand go.

“And where is she? Are you married?” The doctor wasn’t looking at Steve now, instead making notes on some clipboard about one or another of Steve’s reactions.

“Ah, no. He’s on the front.” Steve cleared his throat, ready to defend their match as platonic, even though it made him sick to deny their bond. He had to protect Bucky, though, even at his own expense. 

“Mm, good, good… No children then.” Erskine said it matter-of-factly, and Steve couldn’t take offense, not really. Who except his ‘Mate might want his scrawny ass? 

“No, no children,” he agreed, wondering where this was going. “Is that… Good?”

Erskine made a noncommittal sound as he continued filling something out on the papers on the desk. Finally he nodded decisively and turned around. “Young man… How would you like to serve your country? At the front?”

Heart in his throat, Steve nodded, and signed his name where Erskine indicated. 

_March 18, 1943_

_Punk,_

_Your letters are a breath of fresh air, always. It’s sunshining here, for the moment, but it might not last. Not hot, the wind is coming in from the North and blowing clouds with it. We have been fighting rain for the last few weeks, and now is no different._

_We have been doing a lot of hurry up and wait, but my letters from you have been a welcome distraction. I saw the most interesting bridges and old buildings the last few weeks; one day we will come back when this is all over so you can sketch to your hearts content._

_It’s almost time for my duty shift, so I’ll have to sign this off now._

_You’re always in my thoughts._

_I.T.A.L.Y._

_Jerk (Bucky)_

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

Steve was no stranger to pain. He’d broken bones, once or twice, had been known to sprain and strain things, both in battles with bullies and falls down the stairs. That all paled in comparison to the pain of the Vita-Ray. Steve could hardly breathe through the pain. When he stumbled into the room after the procedure, he couldn’t see straight. Every inch of him hurt. His _hair_ hurt.

“Buck?” He breathed the name out as someone knelt to help him stand from where he’d fallen to his knees. But, no, it was Stark, tugging him gently but firmly to his feet. 

“Sorry to disappoint, kid,” Howard said with a little grin. He looked Steve up and down leeringly. “Look at you, huh? Little different than before.” He gave Steve’s ribs a nudge, ignoring the little oof that he gave. “Bet all the ladies will love you now.” He winked at where Peggy stood, looking shell shocked. Steve blushed, but didn’t respond to Stark’s teasing. Inside, it was a different story. He saw his reflection in one of the screens, and his heart about beat out of his chest. What would Bucky say? His soulmate… He crossed his arms behind his back, his left thumb rubbing softly along his right wrist. The tingling reassured him, but what if Bucky wasn’t impressed? After all, his Soulmate had been the first person other than his mother to accept him for who he was. And now, was he really the same person anymore?

Before he could follow that train of thought any further, the room exploded in a hail of bullets. Everything happened so very fast. Steve had never gotten to move so quickly without losing his breath. Chasing down the man who had killed Doctor Erskine, even if he was unsuccessful, just felt so _good._ If this was who he was now, well… He could hardly wait for the rest of his training.

_June 15, 1943_

_Steve,_

_We’ve gotten moved again. It’s wet here, wetter than it ever was at home. I never thought I’d miss New York weather, but damn, I do. I miss your cookin’, too. Don’t get me wrong, they do their best here for us, but it just ain’t the same as your Irish stew._

_You’ve been quiet lately. I hope it’s just the mail bein’ slow and not something wrong. Please write back when you can. I miss you. The other fellas are talkin’ about their Mates, or their gals back home. I wish I’d thought to get your picture before I left. There’s a couple more ‘Tonics on the unit, they’ve all got their own to look at. Maybe if you get a chance you could send me one?_

_They played Prince tonight on the radio. I think he said it best;_  
I think of you every morning  
I dream of you every night.

_I promise I’ll come home safe to you._

_Bucky_

Basic training had been hard, but nothing was as hard, or as pointless, as being a performing monkey. The summer was winding down toward fall, and Steve was settled in his routine. Of course, Project Rebirth had been classified, and without Doctor Erskine to head it, he’d found himself lost and shuffled off to one of the “troop morale” programs. Frankly, it was demeaning, but given everything the serum had done for him, Steve didn’t think he could complain. Besides, it did feel good to see the men getting so much more refreshed by his shows. Not what he’d hoped to do at the front, but it would do for now.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

Steve could hardly stand another minute of this. His letters to Bucky hadn’t been mailed for months. He’d sent one letter off saying he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to write again, and then they were off to the front. Unfortunately, Bucky’s regiment had been deployed somewhere else, and Steve had been so busy going from show to show, he’d hardly had time to set pen to paper. Now he had a stack of letters set to mail as soon as he could get away long enough to stamp them. They were finally in a town, to restock and take a night to rest and eat food that hadn’t been cooked over a campfire. Steve sat on the ground outside the bar, pencil between his teeth as he struggled to come up with the words to tell Bucky about what he’d done.

“Whatcha doin’, Rogers?” The voice was an unwelcome distraction from where Steve sat against the wall, scribbling another note to Bucky. A moment later, a brash young woman dropped down beside him, eagerly peeking over his shoulder. “You writin’ your girl another letter?”

Steve snorted. “Not hardly, Lilly,” he said, setting the pencil down to the side and folding the paper so her nosy eyes couldn’t see it. “I’m just writing to Buck. I dunno if he’ll even get it. They said a lot of the mail is down, and people aren’t getting their letters.” He’d given up on getting any back from Bucky; after all, with as much as they were travelling, it wasn’t like any would catch up to him. Buck didn’t even know where he was yet! To be honest with himself, Steve wasn’t really sure he wanted Bucky to find out in a letter. Only the fact that he had no other choice kept him from running away to _really_ join the Army, to find his man.

“Hmm.” She bumped shoulders with him. “Y’know Rogers, it wouldn’t kill ya to join in with the rest of us now and then.” She smiled as winningly as she could. “There’s a few more of us ‘Tonics here, you know. You could find yourself a nice girl.” She waggled her wrist at him, her ‘Match mark covered by one of the bands of her costume.

“Thanks, but I’m not interested.” Steve shook his head. “I mean, girls were never that interested before, but now…” He didn’t hide the fact that he hadn’t always looked like this; after all, how else was a young, well put together man ending up with the USO instead of in the regular Army? “I think I’d rather wait until this is all over, you know?” That was the safer answer, the one he’d been giving folks this whole war. Who wants to drag a pretty dame through maybe losing her man? Never mind that he and Bucky firmly intended to be ‘bachelor roommates’ for the rest of their lives. Lilly didn’t need to know that. 

“Mm… Suit yourself.” Lilly levered herself up off the floor, tossing golden ringlets over her shoulder as she did. “Just don’t be late for practice.” She grinned cheekily and then was gone, leaving Steve to finish his letter. Somewhere, distantly, he could hear a radio coming on somewhere by the bar where they were going to eat dinner. 

Nathaniel Prince’s smooth voice rang out through the static, and despite himself, Steve hummed along and smiled. 

_You're the dreams I dream, the song I sing_  
You're the stars and moon and nearly everything.  
Life would be a symphony,  
Living all for you. 

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

_July 4th, 1943_

_Stevie,_

_It’s your birthday. I haven’t had a letter from you in so long. I miss you. Where are you? The Delaney girls sent a letter, said you left one day and just never came home. Please don’t tell me something happened to you, I couldn’t bear it._

_Abyssinia  
Bucky _

War was Hell. Bucky knew it, the rest of the 107 knew it. But there was a special kind of awful reserved for guys like Bucky, apparently. ‘Tonics who don’t know their place. The kind who are madly, desperately in love with their ‘Match even when it’s A Sin. That was the only reason he could think of why he would be in this place, now. The only crime he’d committed.

He screamed again as a long, thin blade slid down his arm. “Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038,” He gasped out, thoughts of Steve slip-sliding away as they always did when They brought him out of the cage. He wasn’t too proud to scream.

“Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038.” The words were his mantra, his saving grace. The only thing that kept Them from knowing about Steve, about the Army, about anything they shouldn’t. “Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038.”

And later? When they finally went away, tired of hearing his name, rank and serial number, it was in those hours that he curled up on the cold, damp floor as tightly as he could. He dreamed of a small, perfect body he used to wrap himself around, with cornsilk yellow hair. He’d shiver on the cold ground, grateful that Steve wasn’t there, and praying that they’d just call him ‘MIA’ and give Steve his survivor’s benefits. He never wanted Steve to imagine him like this. 

Sometimes, when he felt the most alone, he’d part his dry, cracked lips and hum, Nathaniel Prince’s voice playing like a record in his head as he dreamed of dancing around their living room with his Steve. 

_I know that you know_  
That I'll go where you go  
I choose you, won't lose you  
I wish you knew how much I long  
To hold you in my arms 

_This time is my time_  
Will soon be goodbye time  
Then in the star light, hold me tight  
With one more little kiss  
Say, nighty night 

Humming to himself was a poor substitute for having Steve in his arms, but since the chances of him making it out of this alive were nearly nil, he’d take what he could get.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

“Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038.” Even Bucky had lost track of how long he’d been saying it, between screams. He wasn’t even sure what they wanted from him anymore. All their questions blended together until Bucky lay trembling under his bonds, too tired to even conceive of fighting.

A smattering of loud bangs echoed in the hallway. The man with Bucky left, the door clanging shut behind him. Bucky barely noticed. “Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanan; Sergeant; 32557038.” He kept mumbling, desperate to hide himself, to keep what was important out of enemy hands. 

Suddenly, a voice broke through the stillness of the empty room. “Bucky?” That was it, he'd finally gone around the bend. After all, Stevie was safe in New York, not here in this hellhole.  
Their skin brushed as his vision somehow began to unfasten the buckles holding him down. “I thought you were dead!” That perfect, beloved voice cracked a little as Bucky found himself drawn into a warm, solid hug.

“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky said, 

his own voice shaking a little. Steve huffed out a laugh, a slightly wet sound, and pressed a quick kiss to Bucky’s temple.

“It’s a long story, we’ve gotta get out of here. Can you walk?” Bucky nodded, his head clearing even as he stumbled toward the door. Their escape was a blur. Guns, fire, some kind of showdown with a terrifying guy with a red face. Bucky still wasn’t sure this wasn’t all a dream. It wasn’t until they stumbled into a cold sunset, the heat of the battle leaving him shudderingly frozen, that he was able to turn toward Steve for real.

“You’re here.” He couldn’t help the wonder that crept into his voice. He was _here._ Why was Steve here, in this hellpit? He was torn between a thrilling swoop of love to see him here, so close, and a clenching terror that Steve was _here_ , and not _home_ , where he was _safe_.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Steve didn’t sound the least bit out of breath, and wasn’t _that_ amazing. When he’d left, there was more than a little concern that Steve might end up in the hospital again if his lungs kept up their tight wheeze. Now? Now he came through a _firefight_ , practically hauling Bucky out himself, and hardly sounded winded at all.

“What happened to you, Punk?” Steve looked a little bashful as Bucky looked him over thoroughly. “When I left New York you weren’t so… Tall.” That was an understatement. His little spoon certainly looked like he’d outgrown their drawer, though his touches, skin to skin, still gave the same little jolt they always had.

Steve hesitated, focusing on the path between the trees. “It’s a pretty long story,” he said finally. The other men they’d rescued followed behind him, and Steve glanced over his shoulder. Their smiling, relieved faces loosened something in his chest. These were brothers, fathers, ‘Mates. People who might have a chance of making it home to their families.

“I’ve got time.” Bucky spoke firmly, the shake in his voice shifting more to weariness than the fear and pain it had been earlier. He still couldn’t believe Steve was here, with him, and that presence alone bolstered him.

Steve glanced over at Bucky, marching gamely beside him. The blood on his face, dripping down his arms, it made Steve’s stomach turn. “Umm. Suffice it to say that I missed you. I looked for ways to enlist, because I had to. I met Dr. Erskine, he was a, a scientist for the government. He told me he had a plan, a way for me to enlist. A little injection,” okay, a lot of one, “a little radiation in a machine, and, well,” he waved a hand at his body, flushing under Bucky’s careful gaze. “So, uh, ta dah.”

Bucky stopped dead, ignoring the men marching around them toward camp. “You let them _experiment_ on you?” He grabbed Steve’s arm, heedless of the pain that shot up his own arm with the movement. “Are you _bonkers_?”

Steve’s gaze hardened. “I needed to help. I was going to crack up if I stayed in that tiny little apartment all by myself. Erskine gave me a way back to you, and I won’t apologize for it.”

They locked eyes for a minute, Steve refusing to look away despite the sharpness of Bucky’s gaze. Finally, though, Bucky just slid his hand down Steve’s right arm, until his thumb could smooth over the ‘Matchmark there. Just as the first time they touched, when they first knew, sparks flew in front of his eyes. Steve blew out a small breath, squeezing Bucky’s hand as his fingers continued to move down to mingle with Steve’s.

“I won’t say I like it, Punk,” Bucky said as he started to march again. “But… I won’t say that I’m not glad you’re here, either.” Their fingers tangled together only briefly before they parted, but Steve was almost sure he felt the warmth linger while they walked back to camp.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

Christmas at the Front was different than anything Steve would have expected, even though he couldn’t have said what he did expect. They got an extra ration of chocolate, some small candies, and those men who could, sat around the fire and sang carols with one another.

Steve sat gratefully next to Bucky, his ‘Mate’s warmth settling into his chest radiating where their arms brushed. It might not have been the best Christmas they’d ever shared, but it was something. A reprieve from five heartbreaking years apart. They sang songs and ate good food, or as good as one could get at the front, and Steve couldn’t stop looking at Bucky, amazed that he finally had him back by his side. That night, in their tent, they broke their own private rule and Steve slid into his bedroll beside Bucky.

They hadn’t let themselves curl together before, mindful of the fact that to everyone else in the platoon they were ‘Tonics. Tonight, though, Christmas, Steve just couldn’t help himself. He curled around Bucky, the big spoon for once. He ignored the small pang in his chest as he remembered what it had felt like to be small enough for Buck to envelope him this way. “Hey,” he murmured, careful to keep his voice low.

“Hey, yourself.” Bucky didn’t fight Steve’s hold, instead relaxing against him and pulling Steve’s arm tighter around himself. “Merry Christmas.”

Steve smiled, his lips pressed against the back of Bucky’s neck. “You too,” he murmured. “You know… Last time we spent a Christmas together, we went dancing.” His heart skipped a beat as he remembered dancing around their living room, with Bucky and Nathaniel Prince crooning in his ear. 

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, we did.” He blew out a sigh. “Wish we had a little Nate Prince here tonight, huh?” His thumb rubbed idly along Steve’s forearm, letting his love stroke softly over his wrist, drawing the tingles for both of them that reminded them that their ‘Mate was there. 

“Yeah. He sure knows how to bring the tone of an evening up.” Steve shivered, the little tingles leaving him feeling warm and safe, despite the situation. “But if I had to pick, I have my favorite guy here with me.”

Bucky chuckled, drawing Steve’s wrist to his lips and pressing a kiss there. “I’d say the same.” The fact that he’d rather Steve be home, safe and sound, he kept to himself. “You’re a real doll.” He grinned at the indignant sound Steve made. “And, listen... Whatever happens, the rest of this war… If you had to be here, I’m glad you’re here, with me, Punk.”

“Me too, Jerk,” Steve said, turning his hand to twine his fingers with Bucky’s. He snuggled in close, then, twining their legs together. They couldn’t afford to sleep together properly, but a few hours here before they parted, well, that would be okay.

Steve’s smile grew as Bucky’s baritone filled the small tent, softly, softly, so no one else beside the two of them would hear. As always, Nathan Prince had words just for this occasion, and Steve wished they could get up and dance as they had, back in New York.

_“I'll never say "Never again" again_  
Cause here I am in love again,  
Head over heels in love again, with you. 

_I walked away and said goodbye,_  
I was hasty, wasn't I  
I missed you so I thought I'd die,  
But it's all over now, so my head's in the sky 

_Head over heels in love again  
With the same sweet you.”_

As Bucky stopped singing, Steve smiled and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. “I love you, too,” he whispered, and pulled the blankets up so they could get a few hours sleep.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

The group of men he’d rescued fell in behind Steve with a frightening speed, leaving him the defacto leader of a hodgepodge group of misfits, the Howling Commandos. Successful, rowdy, friendly men who took everyone in their stride, they left a streak of Nazi destruction in their wake. He’d never felt better in his life. Every raid they ran, every strike he made with Bucky by his side left him feeling invigorated and alive. But it was unreasonable to think this could last forever, even though Steve was content to try.

The world came to an end just after the New Year. After word that Schmidt was transporting _something_ dangerous, the Commandos were dispatched to stop him. After all, he was dangerous and powerful enough already. 

The plan was straightforward, if risky. Infiltrating a moving train as it crossed along a mountain pass would be damn near suicidal for anyone except the Commandos. The men would then take the train by force, to stop Schmidt from escaping. They still didn’t know what his blue box was, or what it did, only that it was a terrible idea to let him keep it.

They tracked the train without a problem, and set up camp without a hitch. Everything seemed to be going well, with Dum Dum and Gabe getting onto the train as planned. Steve was next, with Bucky following last. They headed for the line, Steve grabbing the loop they’d set up earlier to slide down the ravine to the train. Bucky stopped at the tree line, Steve just ahead of him. Heedless of the men waiting for them, he grabbed Steve’s arms, looking him dead in the eye. 

“I love you, Steve,” he said lowly. “You be careful. Y’hear?”

Steve smiled. “I hear you, Bucky. I love you too. And hey… Don’t worry. We’re the best there is, right?” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, wishing he could lean in for a kiss. “I’m with you, you know. To the end of the line.” Then he turned, before he could do something foolish like cover Bucky’s lips with his own, and rode the line to the train. He waved the all clear and Bucky looped his own belt around the line. As Bucky started his descent, the cable snapped, and Bucky Barnes was no more.

Steve existed in a fog, after that. The warmth of Bucky’s touch leeched out of his skin by the chill winter air. Why hadn’t he kissed him? Why had he _cared_ if the Commandos saw? They had to know they weren’t ‘Tonics, they had to! But they hadn’t. Bucky was gone. The world passed in flashes, moments he barely remembered. He fought, tooth and nail, to take down Schmidt. Bucky was gone. Peggy asked him to sit and have a drink with her, to go dancing at the officer’s club when he returned. He said yes. Bucky was gone. They tracked Schmidt and his terrible machine, and Steve managed to wrest it from him by the skin of his teeth. Bucky was gone. Suddenly, he was flying over the ocean. Peggy was talking in his ear but Steve barely listened. _Bucky was gone._

“Sorry, Peggy,” Steve managed, touching the folded paper he’d tucked up in the console. The last letter he’d received from Bucky before he’d enlisted, the one he’d carried around with him since he’d gotten his papers. “I think I’m gonna miss our date.” He continued to fly the plane out over the water, further and further. When he felt the engine sputter, he turned the nose of the plane down toward the ice. “I’m with you, Buck,” he murmured to the letter. “This is the end of the line.”

As the plane hit the water and the cabin began to fill, Steve’s skin finally matched the cold in his chest. He folded his fingers around the letter, closing his eyes. He almost thought he could hear Buck singing along to Nathaniel Prince on the radio, a perfect duet. He sank beneath the waves to their serenade.

_You're my everything underneath the sun_  
You're my everything rolled up into one  
You're my only dream, my only real reality  
You're my idea of a perfect personality. 

_You're my everything, everything I need_  
You're the song I sing and the book I read  
You're a way beyond belief and just to make it brief  
You're my winter, summer, spring, my everything 

**End Part One**


	2. Chapter 2

Steve awoke slowly. He was warm, covered in a scratchy wool blanket. He could hear a radio playing, somewhere, Nathaniel Prince’s warm voice filling the room. 

_Here is where you'll always find me,_  
_Always walking up and down._  
_But I left my soul behind me_  
_In an old cathedral town._

_The joy you find here, you borrow,_  
_You cannot keep it long, it seems._  
_But gigolo and gigolette_  
_Still sing a song and dance along_  
_The boulevard of broken dreams._

He blinked muzzily, the pieces slowly slotting back into place. He’d been at the fight, took the plane… He crashed. Did they find his plane so fast? He shifted. The cot he lay on wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was a _little_ short for someone his height. His mind wound more quickly through the situation, and his stomach dropped. Bucky. Bucky was gone, and Steve was supposed to be, too! The sheer unfairness of it all pulled his mind fully awake. 

He sat up, shoving the blanket off, head spinning at the change in elevation, and took in the room. Sterile white, just a dresser, a small desk and chair, and a lamp in the corner. No windows, not that he expected an Army hospital to have much in the way of windows. He swung his feet off the edge of the bed, intending to head to the door to see if a nurse was around. He’d barely touched his toes to the ground when there was a brief knock and then the door opened. Two men, one perhaps fifty and the other maybe a few years his junior, entered together. Steve had never seen suits in quite that style, with the legs narrower and the jacket open; neither man wore a vest. The younger man had something coming from his ears, a bright purple coil that disappeared behind the lobe.

The older man stopped a few feet from the bed, and the younger a few steps from the door. Steve could see the outline of pistols under their jackets. They held their hands up to show they were empty as the first man spoke. “Captain Rogers, my name is Phil Coulson, and this is my partner, Clint Barton. We’re with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, better known as S.H.I.E.L.D. We are a direct off shoot of the SSR, though I am afraid we are a bit... Outside of your knowledge.”

Steve frowned. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of you,” he agreed. The whole thing felt surreal. These men, dressed strangely, and the room was both like and unlike any hospital he’d ever been in. But Nate Prince in the background soothed him, and so he tried to set aside his unease. “But alright, Shieldman,” he said, letting a little of his skepticism into his voice. “Did Howard help you… Track my plane, or something? How’d you find me so fast?” That was a detail he just couldn’t understand. He’d thought he was so far outside the range of radar that he’d never be found. Maybe he was wrong, though; it wouldn’t be the first time that Howard Stark surprised them all with a new piece of tech.

Coulson frowned, and behind him Steve saw Barton shift uncomfortably. Clearly a sensitive subject, then. “Well, Captain Rogers, I’m afraid that is going to take a little time to explain.”

Steve shrugged. The Army wasn’t exactly well known for saying in four words what they could say in ten, after all. “I’m not going anywhere, fellas,” he said, leaning forward so his elbows could reach his knees. “Pull up a seat and I’m all ears.”

The agents took him up on it, sort of. Coulson dragged the chair from under the desk and Barton perched on the edge of the desk, like Bucky used to perch on the edge of the table when Steve was cooking. The thought made an unexpected stab of pain shoot through Steve’s gut, as he remembered once again that Bucky was _gone_. With an effort, he forced his attention back to Agent Coulson. 

“It’s like this,” Barton started from behind him, but then Coulson shot him a _look_ , and he fell silent. Steve fought the urge to frown; whatever they were about to say couldn’t be _that_ bad, right? The agent reached into his pocket, removing a small black box. Steve frowned at it; it looked like a box, but he couldn’t see a hinge on it anywhere. Maybe it was related to the blue box, somehow?

“It is currently 2011.” He said it as though seventy years passing over night was something that happened routinely. Steve sat bolt upright.

“What?” Steve couldn’t help the word that burst from his lips. He searched Coulson’s face but could find no sign of a lie. 

He continued as though there had been no interruption. “You took the plane containing the Tesseract, Schmidt’s cube, into the water in 1944, and the plane was unable to be recovered. Stark and Carter spent several months looking for your body but ultimately were unsuccessful, and you were deemed KIA in 1945. However, S.H.I.E.L.D, an offshoot of the original SSR founded by Stark and Carter, continued to look for you.” Coulson kept his eyes on Steve, trying to gauge his reaction, even though his tone remained as bland as someone discussing some particularly boring weather.

Steve’s mind was spinning. Seventy years? He’d been frozen for nearly seventy years? And he was _dead_? _Wrong_ , his mind insisted. It had to be wrong. If he were dead, he’d be with Bucky, and if he wasn’t… Where could he go in a world _seventy years_ in the future? “I… But... “ Steve shook his head. “No. That can’t be true. You’re lying.” 

Agent Coulson raised one eyebrow at Steve’s outburst. “Do I look like a man for whom falsehoods are a commonality, Captain Rogers?”

Steve frowned, deflating slightly. As much as he’d _like_ to get up and punch something, his time in the Army had at least taught him the value of patience. “No, I suppose not,” he managed. “Go on then.”

“Mm. As I was saying.” Coulson shifted in the chair and crossed his feet primly at the ankles. Behind him, Barton _giggled_ , but Coulson ignored him pointedly. “It took us significantly longer to locate your plane than we might have anticipated, but locate you we did. Imagine our surprise to find your body in such good condition…” He _did_ glare at Barton this time when his partner let out a louder giggle.

“And then, when we thawed you, it became apparent that _somehow_ , presumably Erskine’s serum kept you alive all that time. After we detected your heartbeat, the medical team took over, and here we are.”

Steve stood on wobbly legs, because he _couldn’t_ stay sitting any longer. He began to pace in front of the bed. “You’re telling me this is _really_ 2011.” He gestured around the room, to the furnishings he’d never have thought out of date for his own home. “And what about all of this?”

Coulson’s mouth tightened. “Before I took lead on this project, the initial plan was to make you comfortable and break it to you slowly.” He snorted, a surprisingly inelegant man from an otherwise put together man. “I convinced them that was a rather poor idea. A man with your history seemed unlikely to respond well. They were resistant initially, but I brought them around.”

Steve’s head was spinning. There was too much information here, but nothing he could really comprehend. “Look,” he said finally, stopping at the far end of the cot. “Say I believe you. What about the war?”

Coulson shrugged. “It ended. We won, if you can put something like a war in such simple terms.” He didn’t tell Steve to sit down, which was good. Steve didn’t think he could right then. He’d had enough sitting. He was a man of action, always had been, but now there was nothing to push back against. It all came crashing down like a wave, and he drew a sharp breath. “And… Bucky. Buck. Did you ever find his body?”

“Sergeant Barnes?” Agent Coulson’s voice was apologetic. “No, I’m sorry. We didn’t. He was lost so deep in enemy territory, there was never a safe way to retrieve him.” And, of course, there had not been a reason to, though he didn’t tell Steve that.

Steve stumbled back a few steps. He’d expected that answer, but that didn’t make the blow less painful. Bucky was dead, and he was alone in a world he’d never expected to see. The wall against his back suddenly had the comfort of an embrace, and he slid down slowly, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“I hate to break it to you this way,” Coulson said, his voice gentler now. “I know Sergeant Barnes was your ‘Mate, and even a ‘Tonic bond is hardly something easy to let go.” He shook his head; he’d never believed for a minute that Rogers and Barnes had been ‘Tonics, not when you read the first hand reports of the rest of the Howling Commandos. Still, that had never been a popular theory, so he’d mostly kept it to himself, and Rogers was having a hard enough time adjusting. No need to throw modern day ‘Mate politics into it. “There really isn’t any training to break news like this.”

Steve looked up when he heard Barton’s inelegant snort from the other side of the room. “You can say that again.” He shrugged when Coulson shot him another glare. “What? It’s a shitty situation!”

Steve was grateful for the distraction, allowing him to gather himself for a moment and then pull himself back up to standing. “Gotta admit, fellas, this really is a lot to take in. I hate to ask you to prove it…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to ask without outright calling them liars. Again.

“But you’d like proof.” Coulson nodded. “That’s all right.” He certainly didn’t sound surprised. He held up the little black box he’d pulled out earlier, and slid his finger along the front of it. “Say cheese,” he said, and Steve narrowed his eyes when Coulson held it up right in front of his face. 

“Cheese?” The bright light that flashed caused his eyes to close tightly; it reminded him of the film strip they’d gotten on Coney Island the one time they’d gone to the photo booth. When he was done blinking, Agent Coulson had turned the little box around.

“What do you think of this?” 

“You carry a camera in your pocket?” Steve really couldn’t believe it, but there he was, wincing and shrinking back from the glare. Thinner than he remembered, but healthy looking. Coulson put the box back in his pocket. 

Barton laughed from behind him. “Oh, so much more than that.” He looked at Coulson pleadingly from his spot on the edge of the desk. “Hey boss, let’s take him out for pizza, huh? “Please?” He popped up, looking surprisingly like a puppy, or a toddler. Steve found a small smile tugging on his lips.

To Steve’s surprise, Coulson stepped toward Barton and gave his shoulder a warm squeeze. “You know why that’s a bad idea, Clint.” And yet, he didn’t seem terribly set against it. 

“Aww, c’mon boss…” Clint wheedled. Actually wheedled! And Coulson seemed to be folding, if the way he hesitated meant anything. “ _Nobody_ is looking for Captain America anywhere near Times Square in New York City. Boss, the guy’s been frozen solid for _seventy years._ How about we cut the guy a break and get him a pizza, huh?”

Coulson rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. This is a bad idea, but I’m sure the Captain is hungry.” He looked at Steve, who felt a little better for having a few moments without their eyes on him. “Does pizza sound good to you, Captain?”

Steve nodded. “I could eat.” Actually, he was ravenous. Now that the immediate wave of confusion and despair was gone, he thought he could probably eat a horse. He’d not had a chance to eat much pizza, since he’d never gone into Little Italy if he could help it, but if that’s what they were buying, he’d take it.

“Okay, Clint, if you insist.” Coulson smiled, though, and somehow Steve thought that sounded a little fond. Strange, for one who had been as formal as Phil had this whole time. “Go find the Captain some clothes. When you come back, we can go to Mario’s.”

 

“Yes!” Clint let out a whoop and was out of the door a moment later.

“You understand, Captain, it’s not that I don’t want to take you out; on the contrary, I think it will do you good. But this is a rather unusual situation, and I thought you might need… A little time to adjust.”

Steve nodded, and took a few steps to the bed, sinking to sit on the edge with a sigh. “You’re right. This is a really, really big change. But I’ve never been one to sit around, and honestly, I’d rather not be in prison, no matter how nice a prison it is.” He hesitated for a moment. “If you like, you can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” Coulson smiled. “You can call me Phil. And Barton will probably be hurt if you don’t call him Clint.” He held out his hand, and Steve shook it. A few minutes later, Clint announced his arrival with a brief knock on the door.

He dumped a pile of clothes on the bed. A pair of denim pants, like overalls without the bib, and a white short sleeved shirt. A heavy red cotton shirt that appeared to have a hood. Some clean boxers. Steve looked them over; aside from the cut of the pants, they looked clean and sturdy. The socks looked thick and warm, too, but the shoes were… Strange, made of white leather and some kind of soft and squishy looking sole. But they looked like they might fit, so Steve wasn’t complaining. “There you go. Sorry, that’s the best I could find on short notice. Hey, Boss, you think we can hit up Macy’s on the way back?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Out, come on. Let’s let Steve get changed. We’ll be waiting for you right outside the door, Cap… Steve.” Steve nodded his understanding, and gave himself a moment after they’d left to blow out a long breath and try to get his bearings.

“Y’ know, Buck,” he said softly as he stood to start to get dressed. “I think you might have liked it here.” He swallowed hard and shrugged his tee shirt over his head as Nate Prince continued to play softly in the background. When he’d gotten the strange shoes on, and the heavy sweater that did, in fact, have a hood, he crossed to the door and opened it. “So how about that pizza, huh?”

 _Why stop to think of whether_  
_This little dream might fade?_  
_We've put our hearts together_  
_Now we are one, I'm not afraid!_

_If there's a cloud above_  
_If it should rain we'll let it_  
_But for tonight, forget it!_  
_I'm in the mood for love_

New York was _loud._ Of course, it always had been, that was one of the things Steve loved about it. But the New York he remembered and the New York _now_ seemed to have very little in common. Bright lights shining every color of the rainbow lit every building, garish but entrancing. People of every color and age wandered up and down boulevards crammed with cars and buses bigger than Steve could have ever imagined. 

Clint led them down a few streets into a tiny little pizza shop. “This place has the best slice this side of the island,” he said conspiratorially. Steve was just grateful for the reprieve from the hustle and bustle as the door swung shut behind them. He let himself be ushered into a booth, where he sat opposite Clint and Phil. They’d gotten a booth along the back wall, and he was surprised, for a moment, that they’d given him the seat facing the door. Then he noticed a mirror hung over the order counter, that allowed Clint and Phil to see the doorway just as clearly as he did. Perhaps that was part of why Clint liked this place?

“You’ve gotta try the Reuben pizza,” Clint said, not even picking up the menu. He made a sound that was moderately filthy. “It’s the best. Corned beef, sauerkraut, thousand island dressing… Heaven.” 

Steve blinked. “That doesn’t sound like any pizza I’ve ever had.” Of course, he’d only had it once in New York, and a few times when he was overseas. It was good, but really nothing to get excited over. Street food might not have been the top of his list for his first meal in seventy years, but he’d learned not to complain. After all, in the Army sometimes you didn’t know when you would eat again, and he and Buck had certainly never been exactly stable themselves.

“Oh… You’re in for a treat.” Coulson sounded more excited than Steve would have thought, though that still wasn’t very much. “Mario’s really is the good stuff.” When the waitress wandered over a moment later, popping bubble gum and flipping over a fresh sheet on her pad, Steve could only hope he was right.

“What can I get you fellas?” 

Clint grinned widely. “An extra large reuben pizza, please… A coke for me to drink.” Phil shot him a look, and he shrugged unrepentantly. “What? I’m betting Steve’s hungry, and if not, Mario’s makes the best leftovers.”

The waitress didn’t respond to that, just popped her gum again. “And for you to drink, sir?”

Phil rolled his eyes at Clint, but was back to business when he looked over at Angie, according to her name tag. “I’ll have a water, please. Thank you.”

Steve leaned back a little against the bench, feeling finally safe enough to try to relax a little. The relative quiet in the pizza shop let him mostly pretend that he wasn’t somewhere totally ridiculous in time. “I’ll have a coke as well. Thanks.” At least a Coke was familiar, and he could do with a little bit of familiarity.

“So Phil, I was thinking… Where’s Steve gonna crash tonight?”

Steve winced, and Clint spluttered. “What, nono, that wasn’t what I meant. I just meant where are you going to sleep tonight. That’s all! Turn of phrase!” He blushed, and Steve bit back a chuckle. Big, bad government agent, blushing tomato red. Steve relaxed a little bit. 

“I was thinking he’d go back to S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Phil said. “After all, he’s technically still under their jurisdiction. We snuck him out for this pizza, but I’m sure the doctors will want to see him.” 

Clint heaved a sigh and Steve had to admit he kind of agreed with him. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to S.H.I.E.L.D. and the sterile hospital room that they’d set up for him. But at the same time he was more than a little unnerved at the idea of trying to find somewhere else to stay in this new, strange New York. Before Steve could say anything, though, Clint perked up. “He could come and stay with us! Stark’s got the space, and I bet he’d like it better than staying in S.H.I.E.L.D. And anyway, you didn't sneak him out. No way Fury didn't know and approve. I'm sure he was planning for us to do something like this, the sneaky bastard. That's why they put you in charge. You know if the docs get their hands on Steve for longer than a few hours he’s just gonna end up a guinea pig… Uh, no offense, Cap. ”

“None taken,” Steve said. It might smart to hear that but it was true. “I really would rather spend as little time in the hospital as I can. I had enough of that when I was younger.” 

Phil nodded, sounding less put out than Steve might have expected. “That’s understandable,” he agreed. “Alright. I’ll talk to the Director, see what I can do. I’m sure there has to be at least some on base housing that’s not in the medical wing.”

“What about the guest room?” Clint blurted out the question before Steve could respond, and both he and Coulson blinked up at him in surprise. 

“The guest room?” Phil raised an eyebrow. “ _Our_ guest room, Clint?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it doesn’t really get more secure than our place, right? And Steve already knows us, and I bet he likes dogs.” He paused for a second. “You _do_ like dogs, right?”

“Oh. I, uh, never really thought about it,” Steve admitted. “Before…” He realized they were in public, so he just gestured at himself. “I was pretty allergic to almost everything, and dogs are expensive, so we never had one. And after, well, I wasn’t exactly home.”

“You’ll like Lucky,” Clint said confidently. “The Pizza Dog, we call him. I found him a couple years back, scrounging behind a pizza shop. He’s a damn good dog.” He stopped talking to lean back when Angie brought their drinks out. 

“Your pizza will be out in a minute, fellas,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you, I think we’re fine.” Phil waited for her to wander away before he turned back to Clint. “So _if_ Fury says yes, and _if_ Steve wants to stay with us, I’m okay with it.” He turned to Steve. “I know you don’t really know us, Steve, but Clint’s offer is sincere, if perhaps a bit on the early side. But if you’re interested in staying with us, you’re welcome to.”

“That’s… Honestly, a very kind offer.” Steve really didn’t like to impose, but there was something almost frightening about the clinically sterile building they’d passed through on their way out for pizza. Steve didn’t like the idea of spending any longer there than necessary. Something else finally caught his attention, though, and he frowned. “Is it… common, for partners to live together at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Clint blinked, caught off guard, and then he grinned. “Aww, yeah. I always forget, what with the bad-ass secret agent thing Phil has goin’ on.” He elbowed Phil gently, grinning more broadly at the bland look his partner shot him. “Phil’s my ‘Mate. We’ve been together almost ten years now, since he found me and I joined up.” He reached out to squeeze Phil’s hand and suddenly Phil’s behavior back at S.H.I.E.L.D. made a lot more sense.

“I hadn’t intended to bring it up so soon,” Phil said, when Steve failed to do more than gape at them for a long moment. “I know things were, well, different, back then.” He looked evenly at Steve, assessing him, looking for censure or anger. “Now ‘Mates are recognized, whether ‘Tonic or ‘Mantic.” 

“That’s…” Steve had to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. His eyes were burning with the sheer _unfairness_ of it all. He was here, and Bucky wasn’t. Bucky, the best man he’d ever known, who he would have given _anything_ to be able to spend his life with, and he’d been gone almost seventy years. “I’m happy for you,” he managed, after another moment. “That’s wonderful.” The look of relief on Phil’s face was almost palpable, and Steve wondered if there had been others who hadn’t responded quite so well.

“Well, Phil is the best,” Clint said, his own tone tinged with relief. “So you’ll come stay with us? I promise, you’ll like it a lot better than the barracks.”

Steve nodded. Even though it would hurt, seeing their love every day, he’d definitely prefer to stay with familiar faces. Well, as familiar as they could be, anyway. That was much preferable to staying in a building full of total strangers. “I’d be happy to.”

He was saved from finding something else to say by Angie bringing their positively enormous pizza over. It was a monster of a thing, covered in swiss cheese, corned beef, cabbage and a bright orange sauce. Steve’s mouth watered at the scent. Angie set a stack of plates down with her other hand and grinned. “Enjoy, fellas.”

“Oh, we will, thank you.” Clint was already serving up big slices of pizza to all of them, and passing it around. He looked at Steve expectantly. “Well?”

Steve hesitated, but his growling stomach wouldn’t be denied. Feeling awkward, with Clint watching him so carefully, he lifted the slice to his lips and took a bite. “Mm!” He was surprised at the tart-rich-tangy taste. It was nothing like the little tomato and cheese slices he’d had, forever ago in Little Italy. “That’s good,” he admitted as he swallowed the bite. “Real good, Clint.” Then he went in for another bite.

“Right? I told you! Best pizza in the city.” Then Clint was chowing down, chewing thoroughly, enjoyment writ loud on his face. Phil followed suit, a bit less exuberantly, and the rest of their lunch was spent with small talk and enjoying their pizza. 

The walk back to S.H.I.E.L.D. was somewhat subdued, but Phil smiled as he dropped Steve off back at the little room to wait for the doctors.

“Don’t worry. I have some pull with the director. I suspect there won’t be much of a problem getting you approved to come and stay with us. Just try to sit tight a few more hours, okay?”

Steve gave a wan smile. “Thanks, Phil. I do appreciate this. I’ll see you when you get back, both of you.” Somehow, it was easier to wait knowing who was on the other side of the door. He sat down at his desk after the two agents left, fiddling with the drawers. He was surprised when one opened, revealing a pencil and some paper. “They really didn’t pull their punches faking this stuff, huh?” He said to no one in particular as he pulled out a sheet and a pencil that looked like the ones he’d carried in his kit. “I suppose I’ve gotta give them an A for effort.” He leaned back in the chair a little way and looked down at the piece of paper for a long moment before beginning a sketch. As long as he could remember, sketching had been a way to pass the time and make him feel better, and if ever he could use that, well, it would be now.

By the time the doctors arrived, Bucky’s face stared up at him from the paper, as young and strong as he had been that day at the train.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

In the end, it took nearly three days before Steve was cleared by both Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and the doctors to leave. They knew little enough of his physiology since the serum to feel comfortable letting him out too soon, in case he should crash. In the end, though, Clint got his way, and Steve and his small duffel bag of clothing and art materials moved into the agent's spare room. The art supplies had been a gift from Phil, a surprisingly thoughtful present which had made his time at S.H.I.E.L.D. much more bearable. Clint had been the one to take him clothes shopping, a much more harrowing experience than Steve liked to admit. But now he at least had clothes that fit him, even if some of the styles baffled him a little.

Steve settled into the house with only a little bump of difficulty. It wasn’t his hosts, really. Clint and Phil were kind, welcoming, but honestly? A little confusing. At work they seemed to be the best of friends, but still clearly subordinate and handler. There was no question who was in charge, and they seemed to like it that way. It reminded Steve of the way he and Bucky had been, in the war. They were a well oiled machine that never failed to accomplish their goal.

At home, though, they were different. Softer. Phil would often rub Clint’s shoulders, tight after a day on the range. He was casually affectionate, which always seemed to leave Clint with a look of wonder after Phil walked away. 

Clint, for his part, always seemed to be baking something. Phil had a surprisingly large sweet tooth, and Steve appreciated that they were always willing to share. Since the serum, his metabolism had skyrocketed, and he always seemed to be hungry, though not in the same way as he had been when he and Bucky were poor and living by the skin of their teeth. Clint, too, seemed to have a sense when Phil just needed to get out of his head, and he’d often corral his husband into playing cards, or a board game, or even just to watch a movie, which was something else Steve was getting more used to as the days wore on.

The point was, watching Phil and Clint left him with a sad sort of ache in his chest. Their lives were so different than what he and Bucky had ever managed, and he was happy for them. That didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t wish for his ‘Mate. For the chance to be with Bucky, openly, like Phil and Clint were. The ache was less, now, different, but nevertheless present. 

Phil and Clint kept his days full, training with a group they called The Avengers. They were an eclectic group: Tony Stark, philanthropist, blow hard, as good a man as his father had been but infinitely more world weary. Clint and Phil, both still supposedly S.H.I.E.L.D. liaisons but as much a part of the team as anyone else. Natasha Romanov, another liaison who seemed to have more loyalty to the team than to S.H.I.E.L.D. (which Steve not-so-secretly appreciated), with a quietly wicked sense of humor. And finally, Bruce Banner, a scientist who, like Steve, no longer had a ‘Mate. Steve hadn’t quite parsed it out, but it had something to do with The Hulk, a side effect of… Some kind of lab accident that Steve didn’t fully understand. But he and Tony spent a lot of time together, and Steve had his suspicions about the nature of his relationship. Not that he’d say anything, of course. That was their business, and no one else’s. 

It was easy to spend his days with the team. Filled with people who had all lost something to the world, Steve had found a group he felt he fit as well as he had fit the Commandos. He was doing good for humanity, and keeping himself distracted at the same time. Bucky would have liked them. His days weren’t anything he could have ever predicted, but it was a good life, and slowly Steve learned to ignore the hole in his chest. 

The one thing that hadn’t changed was his evening routine writing to Buck. Even knowing his ‘Mate would never read them, it gave Steve some comfort. Like reaching across time to speak to his ‘Mate, the way he used to, back when he was on tour.

One night, nearly a year after he’d moved in, Steve sat down at the desk in his room. He was exhausted; the week he’d had was one that was rivalled only by the hardest days at the end of the war. He still couldn’t believe that the cube was _gone_. The one he’d fought for twice now, the one that had stolen Bucky from him, and Thor had just taken it away, where hopefully it could never hurt anyone again.

He was aching and sore, but miraculously his little room in Phil and Clint’s apartment was still intact. He turned on the little radio Stark had built him and picked up a pen. Nathaniel Prince began to croon, and Steve’s heart beat a little faster. He sang along softly as he set his paper on the desk. 

_The falling leaves drift by the window_  
_The autumn leaves of red and gold_  
_I see your lips, the summer kisses_  
_The sun-burned hands I used to hold_

Bucky used to take him out in the fall, before everything got too cold. Steve always had to be careful when winter came because he’d get sick too easily, but in the fall he could bundle up warmly. They’d go walking in Central Park, holding hands on the stretches where no one was around to see them.

Steve smiled as he remembered those days; quiet and peaceful. The kind of Sundays he’d treasured all his life. They’d go out after church and just talk about anything and everything. That was one of the things Steve loved about Bucky; they never ran out of things to talk about.

The song played on, and Steve’s heart swelled with melancholy. He missed Bucky so much, and it was an ache he’d thought he’d never have to learn to outlive. He wished he could hear him sing, even one more time. Nathaniel Prince had a wonderful voice, but Bucky’s was still the only one that could make Steve’s heart skip a beat.

_Since you went away the days grow long_  
_And soon I'll hear old winter's song_  
_But I miss you most of all my darling_  
_When autumn leaves start to fall_

With a soft breath, not quite a sigh, Steve set pen to paper and started to write as the song faded away.

_May 4, 2012_

_Bucky,_

_I know I haven’t written for a while. It’s been pretty hectic around here. To start off, we were attacked. Not by humans, though… No, by gods. I know! It sounds batty, but it’s true. There was a lot that happened, too much to go into here, really. We… We thought we lost Phil. And the cube, the one we got from Schmidt? It turns out that it came from wherever the Gods did. We were attacked by Loki, the trickster. Remember from Norse Mythology, in English class? His brother, Thor, came and helped us out, but he got to Clint and Phil first. God, that was awful. Clint was kidnapped and Fury told us Phil was dead; he said later that it was to ‘bring us together’. I’m not sure Tony will ever forgive him for that. Luckily, the medical team helped Phil pull through, though we didn’t find that out until after Natasha was able to rescue Clint, and everything else was settled._

_Today was a pretty exciting day. On top of everything else that’s been going on, we had to take out a ship that was coming from_ space. _There were_ aliens, _Buck. I know, I know, I always had a head for some of those drug store novels, but this was something else. They came down out of a hole in the sky, it seemed like they’d never stop. But Tony and Bruce figured out how to close their portal, that’s what they called it, and take down the rest of them._

_The team really came together today. I know I’ve told you before that Tony and I don’t always get along so well. I guess he reminds me too much of Howard, and not always in a good way. Howard was a good man, but he had his faults, and I guess they got worse after the war. Tony took the brunt of it, and those sorts of things leave scars._

_Today, though, today Tony really stepped up to the plate. I’ve told you about his suit before, so I don’t have to remind you. But he caught a_ bomb _and carried it through to space, wherever the aliens were coming from. He single handedly saved the city. He’s a good guy, Tony Stark. And now I guess it sounds like we’re all going to be moving into the tower. He doesn’t like having all of us so far away from him, and Phil and Clint think it’ll be easier for us to Assemble when they need the team._

_Phil and Clint swear it’s not like this usually. I’m just hoping that they’re right._

_I really miss you, Buck. I know I say that a lot. But there’s still a part of me that will never get over you, and I’m not sure I want to. The world’s so much bigger than it used to be, and I wish you were here to explore it with me. Just… Know you’re here in my heart. I love you, Buck. ‘Til the end of the line. I’ve gotta get to bed. I’ll tell you more tomorrow._

_Love you, Jerk._

_Always,_

_Steve_

The year passed much more quickly after the Chitauri attack. There was so much to do, with cleanup and repair. The Avengers were used as much for their strength as they were their public faces. Steve gratefully lost himself in the work, and as time passed, he felt the loss less and less.

Avengers tower was even more of a change than Phil and Clint’s apartment had been, but Jarvis made up for that. As strange as it felt to ask the ceiling for help, Steve knew he learned more about his new century in the six months he’d been in the tower than he had in the whole year working with S.H.I.E.L.D. 

It was November, and this year, with everything rapidly approaching normal, Steve felt a melancholy creep up on him as the holidays approached. He sat in the living room, sketching idly, when suddenly the seat beside him was occupied by none other than one Tony Stark.

“What’s up, Capcake?” Tony grinned at his own joke. “Lookin’ a little glum there…” He nudged Steve, careful not to disrupt his pencil too badly. “It’s almost Christmas! What’s there to be sad about?”

Steve put his pencil down; he’d learned the hard way that Stark didn’t like to be ignored, or even delayed. It was annoying, but generally not worth the effort to try to change his habits. “It’s kind of hard to explain.” Steve didn’t mind talking about Bucky, not really. But usually he talked to Clint, or Phil. Tony always seemed just a bit, well, abrasive. But he meant well, and seemed so earnest, that Steve found himself opening up today. “But Bucky and I always made a kind of big deal about Christmas.” He shrugged. “I mean, we didn’t have money for much, but Bucky loved it.” 

“Oh, I get it.” Tony nodded, leaning back. “My mom used to really love Halloween. She went all out. I mean, _all_ out. But it really wasn’t the same after her accident. I quit with the parties and stuff.” He nudged Steve’s shoulder. “I know what you need to cheer up.”

Steve bit back a sigh. Tony meant well, he reminded himself. “I really don’t need anything to cheer me up, Tony. Thank you. I just need a little time to… remember him, myself.”

“Look, Steve…” Tony’s voice dropped, and grew a bit more serious. “I get it. I mean, I don’t _get it_ , get it. But even us ‘Tonics know what it means to lose your ‘Mate.” Like Phil and Clint, Tony was pretty sure that Steve and Bucky were ‘Mates, and he’d never hesitated. Steve hadn’t bothered to try to keep up the front. With Bucky gone, what did it matter? Tony shifted and looked at Steve evenly. “When I crashed, in Afghanistan, I was _convinced_ that Rhodey was dead. I mean, one hundred percent dead certain. After all, they got us with Stark weapons, and we don’t miss.” He shook his head, his right hand moving to stroke softly over the spot on his wrist where his mark, a swirling mass of entwined loops showed, peeking under the cuff of his sleeve. “The despair I felt that day… I’ve never felt like that before. So I get it. But I also know that I didn’t give up. I had to live, for him.”

Steve’s gut clenched. Tony was trying so hard, but… “But James _wasn’t_ dead,” he couldn’t help but point out. “You got him _back_.” The sudden anger was surprising. Anger at Tony, or Bucky, or Hydra, Steve really wasn’t sure. “This isn’t the same, Tony.” He put his sketchpad on the table, starting to stand up. “I need to go.”

“Wait! Steve, damn it. That didn’t come out like I meant.” Tony stood, too, though he didn’t crowd Steve. “I just meant that sometimes we need to give ourselves space, that’s all. Look. I know it’s kind of a shitty idea and I guess I’m tossing this on you kinda fast. But Jarvis thinks he found another one of Hydra’s bases, and it looks active. Agent and I were thinking of taking a team out there, see if we can shut them down.” He shrugged, suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. “I just thought you might like the chance to get out and see the world a little, punch some bullies, that’s all.”

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

Two days later, Steve found himself, alongside the rest of the Avengers, in some godforsaken part of Russia. The base itself was dug into the side of a hill, and the people patrolling it carried big guns. The fight to get inside was satisfying, in a brutal sort of way, even if most of the Hydra goons got away.

Tony blasted in the door and led the way into the compound. “C’mon, Cap. I wanna see what they were doing here.” That was their Tony, Steve thought fondly as he followed him inside. The corridors were a mess; bullets, a few dead bodies, papers and computer parts everywhere. 

“Damn. I was hoping that there would be a few computers left, but it looks like the bastards destroyed whatever they couldn’t carry.” They were deep in the bowels of the compound, now, and Steve paused at a particularly heavy looking door.

“What would be so important that they’d have a steel door like this in the basement of this place?” Steve stopped, looking at Tony, who obligingly pointed his repulsor at the handle. The door banged open with a satisfying crash. Steve pushed it out of his way cautiously, frowning when he saw the fog hissing out the door.

“Hey Tones, this looks like it could be important.” Steve figured anywhere with fog had to be coming from some machine. He waved his shield, fanning the stuff out of his way until he could see the source. Computer banks lined the walls , but the room was dominated by a huge tank in the corner. It hissed out the steam from a gash in the side; clearly someone had tried to damage it as they left. The computers, too, hissed out sparks and smoke, leading the room to feel even dingier and darker. 

“Wow… Could they have been any more awful?” Tony clanked in behind him, and waved his hand to make it easier to see. “Those poor computers… What did they ever do, huh?” He approached the bank of monitors, hoping to salvage something. “Mind if I put some music on while I think, Cap?”

“Huh?” Steve glanced at him. “No, no, go for it.” He continued through the room cautiously, looking around for any hidden traps. Beside the tank he saw the frame of a chair with some kind of wires leading out of the base of a strange helmet mounted to the top. It gave him the willies, and he resolutely turned away from it to approach the still hissing tank.The hissing was underlaid with the jazz Tony put on in the suit. He knew Steve’s tastes, so it wasn’t metal or rock, thankfully. 

It was Nathaniel Prince, and Tony’s surprisingly smooth tenor joined him. _“There was a boy  
A very strange, enchanted boy…”_ Steve swallowed; the lyrics of that one always made him think of Bucky. _“They say he wandered very far... Very far over land and sea…”_

It was impossible, initially, to see inside, besides the general shape of a person. “Hey Tony, can you get Jarvis to scan for life signs? I think Hydra was doing some kind of experiment here.” The cold was starting to get to him, and Steve winced. He suddenly just wanted to go home. 

“Uh, sure, gimme one sec.” Steve knew Tony would get back to him. He hoped, for the sake of whoever the poor sap was in the tank, that they were dead. Anyone who’d been in the hands of Hydra almost certainly would be better off. 

With one hand he carefully rubbed away at the window at the front of the tank, clearing away the frost. A face appeared, misty under the still escaping gas. Dark hair, eyes closed. Square jaw. Something about the face was familiar, but Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Hey, yeah, Cap, you’re right! Jarvis is reading a heartbeat and respiration. It’s slow, but there. Hey, Agent, we’re gonna need a med-evac team. There’s a… I guess we don’t know if he’s a prisoner or what. He’s in some kind of cryo tank but it’s leaking. Yeah. We’ve got it here. Whenever you’re ready let us know. I don’t want to open the tank, even if it’s leaking, until you’re ready to get him directly to medical just in case.”

Steve couldn’t stop staring as Tony stopped talking and the music played once more. The face was niggling at his mind, different and yet familiar despite the dark makeup smeared around his eyes. 

_And then one day_  
_One magic day he passed my way_  
_While we spoke of many things_  
_Fools and Kings_  
_This he said to me:_

He looked again. _Something_ about the face, even covered in scruff, with long dark hair that hung loose around his chin. And then the man’s eyes opened, startlingly bright and blue, and Steve _knew._ He gasped, hand reaching automatically for the lock on the door. 

_"The greatest thing you'll ever learn_  
_Is just to love and be loved in return"_

“Oh my God. Bucky!”

**End Part Two**


	3. Chapter 3

“Cap, Cap wait!” But Stark’s warning came too late, and Steve had the door open a moment later. The rest of the cold and steam rushed out in a puff and Steve shivered. He’d never appreciated the cold, and seventy years ensconced in ice hadn’t improved his opinion. Still, he couldn’t help but hold his arms out as the man inside the steel coffin collapsed out of his bindings.

“Damn it, Cap, what if he had life support or something in there?” Steve held two fingers to the pulse point on Bucky’s neck. It was Buck, it had to be. His whole body tingled just being this close, never mind that his ‘Mark was hidden under his uniform. The pulse under his fingers thudded regularly, and Steve shook his head.

“He’s okay.” He swallowed. “Well. He’s alive.” He was alive. How was this possible? His eyes, Bucky’s eyes, fluttered open. The familiar blue Steve had thought he’d come to terms with never seeing again blinked up at him blearily.

“Bucky. Buck, it’s me. Steve.” He wasn’t sure what he expected. Another night flashed into his mind, long ago but almost just yesterday. A night like this one, where he’d held Bucky in his arms and pulled him out of a den of torture and pain. He gently hoisted his ‘Mate up, determined to do it again. His heart skipped a beat when Bucky opened his mouth.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve’s heart dropped. No. Nonononono. Hydra took everything; they’d taken his home, his time, they couldn’t have this, too. Before he could respond, though, the man in his arms closed his eyes, passing out a second time. The brief moment of clarity didn’t leave Steve with much more than passing comfort. Bucky had to remember him. He had to!

“Uh, Cap?” Tony’s voice jerked him out of his mind, and Steve looked up. 

“What is it, Tony?” His voice was gravelly, too gruff. He didn’t care. His heart was breaking once again, smaller pieces than he’d thought possible. Bucky… What the hell did they do to you? Bucky shifted in Steve’s arms, and Steve’s eyes widened impossibly further as he heard something ‘clank’ and realized it was Bucky’s arm, where it impacted the refrigeration unit. His right arm. Their ‘Mark… Gone. Steve thought he might be sick.

“We’ve got incoming. Jarvis says that it’s Agent and Hawkeye. They’ll have the med evac.” His voice sounded puzzled, but not in an invasively curious way. Tony did have some tact. He clanked up behind Steve and set a cold hand on his shoulder. “We’ve gotta get him outta here. Get him back to the tower.” He flipped back the face plate so that Steve was talking to him, not Iron Man. Any other day, Steve might have appreciated it. As it was, focusing on the incoming agents let him push away the nausea and pain of his missing ‘Mark. It didn’t matter. Bucky was alive!

“Right.” Steve didn’t want to let Bucky out of his sight. They might have the med evac but Bucky was leaving this room in Steve’s arms, come hell or high water. He hadn’t just gotten everything back to let it go, even with someone as well meaning as Phil. He stood up, smiling at the confused look on Bucky’s face. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “I know you’re confused right now but we’re going to take care of you.”

Bucky didn’t struggle as Steve picked him up. Tony looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue. For a minute, at least. “So, uh, you know this guy, Cap?” He’d lasted about thirty seconds, that had to be some kind of personal record.

“This is Bucky,” Steve said, listening for the footsteps that would announce Phil and Clint’s arrival. “My Soulmate.”

For once, Tony didn’t let loose something snarky right away. Instead, he looked at Steve and gave his bundle a thoughtful once over. Then he nodded. “His arm’s missing,” he said, astutely. Steve tried to ignore the tightening in his stomach at that, but he nodded.

“Yes, it is.”

“When he’s better, I can make him a better one. He doesn’t need that Hydra shit to follow him his whole life.” Steve was startled. Not that Stark was a bad guy, or incapable of thinking of others, but he still wasn’t known for his thoughtfulness. “So, you guys weren’t ‘Tonics?” And there it was. The question he’d known was coming but hadn’t ever really dealt with so plainly. After all, everyone, well, then, had known they were ‘Tonic, no matter how wrong they were. And even though Tony had always acted as though he assumed they weren’t, he clearly hadn’t made up his mind either. Steve froze, not sure how to answer that, when the door opened again.

“That is incredibly rude, Mr. Stark.” Phil spoke with the same kind of control that he always had over the comms, shutting Tony down effectively. “Other people’s status is none of your business if they don’t want to make it your business.” He turned to Steve. “The evac is here and waiting. Clint has the ‘Jet ready to go.” 

“Thank you, Phil.” The relief in Steve’s voice was for more than just the evacuation. He knew he wanted the world to know how he felt about Bucky. He always had, always would. But Bucky now… He wasn’t the same as the Bucky Steve had grown up with. Who knows what seventy years under the thumb of Hydra might have done to his fun-loving Soulmate? He couldn’t make any assumptions for Bucky, couldn’t do anything that affected the both of them, until Bucky was better. Awake. Knew what he was agreeing to.

He hefted Bucky in his arms, heavier than he looked but still within the realm of what Steve could comfortably carry, and headed out through the compound to where Clint waited with the Quinjet. He settled Bucky onto a stretcher and then hesitated. “Captain, we really should strap him down. Unexpected turbulence would be a rather unwelcome way to wake up.”

Steve nodded. “I know. I just hate the idea of tying him down, even for a few hours.” Even knowing that it was the best possible decision, Steve still hesitated. Phil’s warm hand on his shoulder convinced him, though, and as soon as he’d secured Bucky Steve took his own seat right next to the stretcher. “I want him seen at the Tower.” He met Phil’s eyes evenly. “I just don’t trust S.H.I.E.LD. Not with this.”

“I understand, and I can’t say that I blame you,” Phil agreed. “Fury will have to be notified, of course, but I think it’s completely logical to wait until after Barnes has been assessed and is awake again.”

The idea of Fury being notified made a knot of worry settle into Steve’s gut, but he pushed it away. Bucky needed him, and Steve wasn’t going to let worry set him off. Bucky was alive and that was all that mattered.

He let Coulson administer a sedative to Bucky, “just in case,” since they had no idea how he’d react if he woke up on the plane, restrained. Steve laced his fingers with Bucky’s, not caring who saw. It was well known, even in his day, how important a ‘Mate’s physical contact was for healing. Presumed ‘Tonic or not, no one would keep him away from Bucky now that he was back.

When they set down at the Tower, everything was a flurry of movement. The medical team Phil had set up came to get Bucky, wheeling him away. Steve followed, not wanting to let him out of his sight. Of course, once they started with their tests Steve found himself at loose ends. Tony’s impeccable team of nurses and a highly capable doctor were busy drawing blood,organizing scans, and Steve wasn’t sure what else. 

Honestly, Steve just let them come and go. Hours later, when everything was said and done, Steve sat numbly beside Bucky’s bed, stroking his ‘Mate’s remaining hand with one thumb. The doctors had given their prognosis, which really hadn’t helped much. The most they could say was that he was, indeed, James Buchanan Barnes, they didn’t know what Hydra had done, and they would figure out the actual damage based on what scans they could do when Bucky woke up.

Steve’s stomach rolled. Tony and Jarvis had immediately begun scans of the video footage Tony had taken from the compound, as well as any information Jarvis had managed to find in whatever computers were still semi operational. In the meantime, it was a waiting game, and Steve had never really been a patient man.

“The sedative’ll wear off soon,” Clint said as he sauntered into the room. Steve looked up sharply, and sagged back in his chair when he realized who was speaking.

“I know,” he agreed. How could he explain how terrifying that was? Because as soon as that sedative wore off, he knew he’d have to face the reality that somehow, some way he really couldn’t fathom, his lover had survived seventy years in the clutches of the very men they’d been fighting against. “Thank you, by the way.” He looked up at Clint, forcing a facsimile of a smile. “For getting us here so quickly.” 

Clint chuckled, and it was a good sound. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad we got him back safe and sound.” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go grab us something to eat. What do you want? And don’t try to tell me you’re not hungry. I’ve seen you after a battle, I know you need the calories.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Steve chuckled weakly. “A burger would be good, and fries.” Fast calories, because Clint was right, he needed them. If he didn’t get some food into him then he ran the risk of not being able to be awake when Bucky finally opened his eyes. 

“Burger and fries. Got it.” Clint shoved back off from the door frame. “I’ll be back soon. And hey… Congrats, Cap. I’m real glad you found him.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Clint. Me too.” He turned his attention back to Bucky as Clint’s footsteps faded down the hall. “I can’t believe you’re back, Buck.” He resumed stroking Bucky’s wrist, captivated by the steady thump of the heartbeat under his touch. Suddenly the bedroom was too quiet, too still. Steve couldn’t stand it. “Jarvis, please play something by Nathaniel Prince.” That would be good for Bucky, something familiar. The way the music had made Steve feel when he woke was enough justification to push out the silence.

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” The posh British accent came through the speakers a moment before Prince’s warm baritone. He’d released quite a few more songs in the seventy years since Steve had gone into the ice, but he’d had time to catch up since he’d come to live in the tower, so he started to sing along softly as the music played.

_You stepped out of a dream,_  
_You are too wonderful_  
_To be what you seem_

“God, Buck,” he murmured, the music dispelling that chilling silence. “I’ve missed you so much.” He squeezed Bucky’s hand gently, wishing there weren’t so many wires and tubes. They were running an IV with fluids, and had a heart monitor and a brain monitor, and some other things that Steve honestly hadn’t paid much attention to. The bottomline was that he could only sit beside Bucky and hold his hand, waiting for him to wake up.

It turned out that he didn’t have to wait long. Despite the fact that they’d dosed him with another dose of sedative on the trip home, just to be sure he wouldn’t wake up when they were over the Bering Strait, Buck began to stir not long after he’d been settled into the bed. 

His blue eyes fluttered open and Steve’s heart stuttered, just as it had in the Hydra base. Bucky’s eyes stared back up at him, as they had so many years ago, the first time Steve rescued him. “Bucky.” Steve kept his voice soft, not wanting to startle him. “Buck, it’s me, Steve.” 

Bucky’s brow, more familiar now that it had been cleaned by a nurse, furrowed slightly. “Who’s Buck?” He shifted, trying to sit up, subsiding when Steve pressed gently on his shoulder. 

The denial sent another shot of pain through Steve’s gut, but he pushed it away. Coming out of a drug like that left Clint loopy more than once Steve could remember. He wasn’t willing to get worried about it yet. “You are.” He smiled, the worry fading to the back of his mind. “Well, that’s your nickname, anyway. Your full name is James Buchanan Barnes, but you always preferred Bucky.” He lifted his hand to reveal the band on his wrist. “I’m Steve Rogers. Your soulmate.”

The words resonated in his chest. Steve knew he ought to call the doctor, or someone, but he really just had to know. He had to know if Bucky would remember him. He hadn’t said it out loud since they were teenagers, young and stupid and too long ago. Now, though, he didn’t hesitate to pull his band off and hold his wrist out for Bucky to see. 

“I don’t…” Bucky hesitated, lifting his metal hand. “I don’t have a name.” He said. He licked his lips, wincing as cracked skin was wet by his tongue. “I mean, they took it from me.” He lifted his hand, the metal gleaming in the overhead lights. 

Steve’s heart was breaking. He’d heard that Hydra was the sort to torture without cause, but he’d hoped that perhaps things had changed in seventy years. Apparently not. “I know.” Steve kept his voice gentle, trying to hold back the heartache. “I know you don’t recognize me right now, but I thought maybe, if you touched my ‘Mark?” He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Bucky touched his ‘Mark and he didn’t feel the tingle. He wasn’t going to let himself think about that. But Bucky nodded.

“If you say so.” He looked a little afraid, and Steve could sympathize. He lifted his left hand and slowly closed it around Steve’s wrist. His thumb rubbed along the star there which had once been echoed on his own wrist, and he gasped sharply.

Steve couldn’t respond, not right away. He was too busy trying to catch his own breath. The tingle, warm and perfect, seemed to flow up his arm and into his chest. _“Bucky,_ ” he breathed out, the sense of _right_ and _good_ filling the hole that had resided there since he’d seen Bucky disappear down that gorge. And then Bucky, laying on the bed with eyes glistening, made the sweetest sound Steve had ever heard.

_“Steve.”_

The tears broke free, then, and Steve leaned forward. He was careful of the wires and tubes, but couldn’t bear another moment without Bucky in his arms. Crying softly, he pulled Bucky against his chest and hugged him tightly. “Oh, Buck…” He shook his head, burying his face against Bucky’s throat. He didn’t smell right, not yet. Still stale, and sort of dry, but familiar too. “I missed you so much.” 

“Missed you too, Punk,” Bucky said, voice wet and shaky. “Where have you been? Where have _I_ been?”

Steve huffed a laugh. “That’s a long story.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’ll tell you later. For now just… Can I…” He hugged Bucky again, tighter. “I just need to hold you.”

“No complaints,” Bucky said, though his voice was sounding tired again. Steve shifted on the bed so Bucky could curl against his side instead. Steve’s fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair. When they were younger, Bucky had always kept his hair cropped short. There hadn’t been much to play with, but Steve loved the feeling anyway. Now though, his fingers caught on knots and even though he relished the feeling of Bucky in his arms, he wanted to get him into the shower to wash away the pain and fear of years. Like shampoo could clean his heart as easily as his hair. Soon, he thought. As soon as the doctors cleared him, Steve could take him home so he could really start healing.

That was how Clint found them some time later, curled up together on the hospital bed. “He’s awake!” Steve looked up, mildly surprised. Not that Clint had ever been the subtlest of his friends, but even so he usually managed some degree of circumspection. 

“Oh… Yes.” Steve buried the feeling of resentment that rose up; just because he selfishly wanted to keep Bucky for himself didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate Clint coming by. “Just, um, just a bit ago.” He shifted, ignoring the feeling of _wrong_ as he pulled away from Bucky. “Actually, can you call the doctors for me? I’d like to get Buck home as soon as I can.”

“I’m not sure how easy that’ll be,” Phil said, stepping in behind Clint. “It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.” He nodded to Bucky, and Steve could feel Buck stiffen behind him. “It may take a while to get him cleared to head back down to your floor.” He was carrying bags of food, and set them down on the rolling table by the bed. “But let’s get the ball rolling so that we can get him home as soon as possible, hm?” 

Clint nodded and stepped out, while Phil began to unpack the food. “Steve, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to get Sergeant Barnes up to speed, so to speak.” He looked up at the ceiling, even though Tony kept telling them that they didn’t have to do any such thing. “Jarvis, can you stop the music?” The song ended abruptly, and the resulting silence felt stifling.

“Up to speed… The same way you got me up to speed?” Steve couldn’t say that he liked the idea, but then, there really wasn’t much of a choice. And at least he was _here_ for Buck. He wouldn’t have to be alone, the way Steve had. 

“Yes, if you don’t mind.” Phil settled on the awkward visitor’s chair. “I think it’s best to do these things like a bandaid. Rip it off fast so the skin doesn’t sting as long.”

Bucky was frowning, and his fleshy hand closed around Steve’s wrist nervously. “Tell me what, Steve?”

Phil answered him instead. “What’s the last thing you remember, Sergeant?”

“Please… Call me Bucky,” Buck said almost absently. “And… I dunno. It’s all muddled. We were fighting at the pass… I fell… The next thing I knew, there was this bright light, shining in my eyes. These men were everywhere, talking in maybe Russian? Everything hurt.” He swallowed. “And from there, flashes. There’s… words… Guns… Blood… Oh, god…” He curled up, one hand going to his head. “So much blood!”

Steve sat up straighter in alarm. “Hey, hey, easy Buck! Easy, you’re here, with me, you’re safe…” He shot Phil a look even as he tugged Bucky in against his side again so he didn’t thrash and pull out his IV. 

“Sergeant Barnes! Bucky!” Phil sounded about as rattled as Steve had ever heard him, but the urgency in his tone apparently was enough to bring Bucky back to himself somewhat. He was breathing hard and trembling but he was able to meet Phil’s gaze. “Bucky,” Phil said again. “That was… A flashback, I think. I’m sorry. I think I may be able to fill in a few blanks, based on some information I’ve gotten from working with Tony. Ah, that’s Anthony Stark, Howard’s son. He was with Steve when we rescued you.”

Bucky nodded, still trembling. “Well what was that? A flashback? To what?”

Phil winced. Usually so unflappable, that simple movement shot alarm through Steve, though he tried to hide it as he stroked one hand up and down Bucky’s spine. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” and Phil was retreating back into his formality. Never a good sign, in Steve’s experience. “You were captured approximately seventy years ago by a faction called Hydra. They are known for experimenting on their captives, which we believe they initiated on you the first time you were captured. We suspect you were given a modified version of the Super Soldier Serum, as Steve was.” He spoke matter-of-factly, leaving Steve reeling.

“That’s… But Doctor Erskine was killed, how did they do that?”

“Well, it’s known that he had some notes, if incomplete. The serum itself is somewhat known, though no one has ever been completely successful in recreating it. But it appears based on information Tony gathered from the lab that Hydra was somewhat successful with Sergeant Barnes. That may be what prompted them to capture him instead of simply killing him when he fell.”

He took a deep breath. “This is the… unfortunate part. Jarvis was assisting us in our scans of the information from the base, and we suspect that Sergeant Barnes is The Winter Soldier.”

Bucky stiffened, but Steve only frowned in confusion. “The who?”

This time it was Bucky who spoke, his voice stiff and cold. “The Winter Soldier. That’s right. I… I remember now. That’s what they called me when they woke me up.” He swallowed hard. “They’d bring me out of the case, like you did Stevie, but… They had… words. They’d tell the Soldier who they wanted killed, and it was like… It was like I had to do it.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “Oh, god… Stevie, it was _me_.” The feeling of helplessness that shot through Steve left him breathless, and he pulled Bucky close again.

“Shh, shh, I know, Buck, I know…” He looked at Phil, who nodded slowly.

“Yes, Sergeant, it was you. And after the doctors here have a chance to look at you, we believe we will be able to erase their programming. No one will be able to do that to you again.”

Phil’s words made Bucky look up sharply, and Steve released a long breath. Thank god for Phil Coulson, already three steps ahead. The tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding released slowly, and he resumed stroking Bucky’s spine. “See, Buck? It’s gonna be okay. And I’ll be right here with you the whole time. I promise.”

Bucky nodded, apparently unable to speak again yet, and Steve couldn’t blame him. Before he or Phil could say anything else, the door opened and the doctor came in. Steve let Phil take control of the situation; he knew that this was going to be hard for Bucky, and instead focused in on his ‘Mate. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of more tests, more news. They scanned Bucky’s brain, his chest, his shoulder, looking for any sign of further tampering by Hydra. Steve never let them take him out of Bucky’s sight, and by the end of it both men were exhausted and the burgers that Phil and Clint had brought were stone cold. Still, they were allowed at the end of the day to go back to Steve’s floor of the tower. The doctors hadn’t really been happy, but Tony had gotten them involved and reminded them that Avengers Tower was the most secure building in the country and they’d relented.

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

“Are you sure this alright?” Bucky slumped against the wall of the elevator as they travelled down to Steve’s floor. “I coulda stayed on the medical wing.” Not that he was complaining, of course, but knowing that he had the potential to hurt Steve meant that staying in close quarters with his ‘Mate was a lot less appealing than it could have been.

“Buck, if you ask me that one more time, I may have to smack you,” Steve said flatly. “You are coming _home _and that is that, do you understand me?” He took a deep breath and blew it out.__

__The earnest tone to Steve’s voice made Bucky smile. “You’ve never been one to take the easy way, have you Punk?”_ _

__Steve turned to face him as the elevator slowed. “No, I haven’t.” He swallowed. “This isn’t the place for this conversation.” He led Bucky out of the elevator and into the living room. Bucky froze. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the size of the building, of course. They’d had to cross through a few hallways to make it to the elevator from the medical floor. But this?_ _

__“Wow, quite a lobby you’ve got,” Bucky said, blinking as he looked around. The room was tasteful, with a large sofa facing a big black screen on one wall. There was a fireplace below that, and a big radio in one corner; Bucky supposed that must be an antique now. A few book shelves and low tables filled the space. Pretty welcoming area to wait, he supposed. It was at least twice as big as their little flat in Brooklyn had been._ _

__“Lobby?” Steve paused, and then realized the confusion. “Oh… No…” He shook his head. “This is the living room, Buck.” He smiled. “C’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.” He wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist, grinning more broadly at the gaping surprise on Bucky’s face. Steve led him down the hall, pointing out the bathroom, the gym, a small library, guest rooms, and finally the master bedroom._ _

__“Stevie…” Bucky sounded a little breathless. “You live in a _mansion_!” He looked around the spacious bedroom, with a solid double bed and dark walnut furniture. Everything he could have wanted to give to his Steve but they never could have afforded it._ _

__“ _We_ live in a mansion, Buck,” Steve said. “This is _our_ home.” He smiled warmly. “You don’t need to worry anymore. We’ll be safe and warm here. You’ll love the team too. You met Clint and Phil already, but you’ll love Tony, and Nat, and Bruce.”_ _

__Bucky’s head was spinning. This was just so much to take in. Steve noticed the change and reached to draw Bucky into a hug. He relaxed against the heat of Steve’s broad chest, noticing only dimly that he wasn’t much smaller than Steve anymore._ _

__“It’s going to be fine, Buck. I promise.” Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s hair, holding him as tightly as he could. Between them, Bucky’s stomach rumbled and Steve laughed. “Well, I guess I can’t be much surprised by that.” He stepped back and turned toward the closet. “Here, let me get you some clean clothes.” The nurses had bathed Bucky and given him some scrubs to wear, so they could get rid of the Hydra stuff. It didn’t look all that comfortable to Steve, though, and the sponge bath hadn’t done much for Bucky’s hair. He pulled out a pair of boxers, some sweatpants, and a shirt before turning back. “How about you take a shower while I fix us some dinner? Tony’s water heater is amazing, it never gets cold.”_ _

__Bucky nodded. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing, Punk. That sounds great.” He smiled shakily and took the clothes from Steve. They went together back to the bathroom and Steve pulled him into one more hug before leaving him at the door. Bucky went into the room, staring around at the gleaming white porcelain. The shower stall in the back of the room was bigger than the entire washroom at the apartment building when they’d first moved in together!_ _

__He set his clothes down on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. The man he saw staring back at him was practically unrecognizable. His hair was stringy and greasy, the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked drawn on. There were a few scars, too, though the doctor at the hospital had explained that he probably didn’t have many because of the serum. And his arm… He lifted it, the silver metal glinting in the bright light of the bathroom. He wiggled the fingers, shuddering at the grinding feeling of each joint. “God, Barnes… Look at you. Such a fuckin’ mess.”_ _

__He turned away from the mirror in disgust and stripped off the scrubs. He stepped into the shower and stared in confusion at the blank wall. How the hell was he supposed to start the water?_ _

__“If I may, sir,” said a voice from the ceiling._ _

__“Holy shit!” Bucky jumped backwards, staring around wide-eyed. “Who’s there?”_ _

__“My apologies for startling you, sir. I am Jarvis, an artificial intelligence. I help to run the tower.” The voice paused, but Bucky still couldn’t see anywhere the voice could be coming from. “How would you like your shower, sir?”_ _

__Well. That was nearly as unexpected as the voice itself. “I, uh, hot, please? But not too hot… Isn’t there some way for me to control it myself?”_ _

__“Of course, sir.” Suddenly a panel lit up on the wall in front of him and Bucky frowned at it. What the hell? Of _course_ Stark’s kid lived in the fuckin’ Stark Expo. _ _

__“What the hell do I do with that?” He knew he sounded petulant, but he didn’t really care. It shouldn’t be so damn hard to take a shower!_ _

__“The right side of the panel indicates temperature, sir,” said the voice. “Simply touch on the panel the appropriate temperature, with more red being hotter and more blue being cooler. The panel is completely waterproof, there is no need for concern if you need to adjust the water when it is running.”_ _

__“Well huh.” Bucky stepped up to the wall and touched a spot a little over halfway up; immediately the water started to pour down, and within a few seconds Bucky was standing under a hot spray. He groaned, dropping his head and letting the water run over his neck and back. “Mm… Thanks, ah, Jarvis, was it?”_ _

__“Indeed, sir. If I may, many of the tower’s residents prefer to listen to music while they bathe. Would you like me to play something?”_ _

__Bucky nodded, then suddenly realized that the voice didn’t have eyes. At least, he didn’t think it did; he’d have to ask Steve about this whole “AI” thing. “Yes, please. Something I can sing to.”_ _

__“Of course, sir.” Nathaniel Prince’s voice was familiar, soothing, and as he reached for the bottle of soap labeled “shampoo”, Bucky started to sing along._ _

_____It is only a paper moon_  
_Sailing over a cardboard sea_  
_But it wouldn't be make-believe_  
_If you believe in me_

____It is only a canvas sky__  
_Hanging over a muslin tree_  
_But it wouldn't be make-believe_  
_If you believe in me_

____

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

Steve was in the kitchen when Bucky finally emerged, still humming, some time later. He found the way thanks to Jarvis, who flashed a light down the hallway he was supposed to go until he could hear Steve rattling around.

“Hey Stevie,” he said, heading toward the counter where Steve was slicing vegetables. Something hissed in the pan on the stove, and the smell of bacon filled the air.

“Buck! How was your shower?”

“Real nice, after Jarvis taught me how to use it.” Bucky kept his voice even, trying not to show Steve how thrown he was by everything. Those memories lurked just behind his eyes, with blood and fear and pain. The last thing he wanted was for Steve to turn those worried blue eyes on him and bring it all back to the surface.

“Oh that was… Shit.” He looked up then, frowning. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’ve been living here so long, I guess I forgot how strange it can be. I’ll make sure to show you how to work everything else.” He chuckled self-depricatingly. “So I’ve got bacon and eggs, I was thinking maybe omelettes, bacon and toast?”

Bucky was glad for the change of subject and nodded. “That sounds good,” he agreed. “You’ve got yourself a real nice setup here,” he said after a few moments of silence. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, after the battle in New York… Uh, I guess I’ll tell you about that later. But after that, Tony built each of us a floor. Clint and Phil have their own apartment, too, but they spend most of their time here.” He turned and sprinkled some vegetables into another frying pan. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of cooking the only noises.

Steve slid bacon and an omelette onto a plate in front of Bucky a few minutes later, and when his own was finished cooking he sat across from him. “I… look. I know this is a lot, Buck. I _get it_. But… Everything’s gonna be okay. It’s different now, but it’s a good life.” He forked up a bite of egg, and Bucky squirmed on his stool.

“I believe you, Stevie. It’s just… It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know?” He swallowed, pushing his omelette around on his plate despite his stomach grumbling at him. “I was supposed to come home from the war, and meet you, and we were going to be bachelor roommates until we were old and gray. And I could have a good job, and you could go to art school…” His voice cracked, and Steve reached across the breakfast bar to squeeze his arm.

“But Buck, we can still _have_ all that. Only, we don’t have to be ‘bachelor roommates.’” He smiled then, earnest. “We can be _ourselves_. Phil and Clint do! It’s not like it was before. We could be together, for real. Hold hands in the park. Go to the movies together, and call it a date!” He slid his hand down until he could twine his fingers with Bucky’s. “It’s gonna be good, Buck. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Steve.” Bucky set his fork down, staring just past where their hands touched. “You can’t! I’m not the man I was before. I… What if they can’t get rid of the conditioning? What if Hydra _did_ break me? Forever?” He pulled his hand away, standing up and pacing the kitchen. “What if I snap and hurt you, Stevie? Or someone else? I could never live with myself! Hell, I can barely live with myself _now!_ There’s so much blood on my hands, Steve!”

“Hey, woah woah!” Steve stood up and crossed the floor to pull Bucky into his arms. “You’re not going to hurt me, Buck. I’m a lot sturdier than I used to be. I promise. And the guys at S.H.I.E.L.D? They’re the best. If anyone can get rid of Hydra from your brain, it’s them.” He hugged Bucky tightly and nuzzled at his throat. “I _promise,_ Bucky. I’m with you, to the end of the line.”

Bucky felt the tears rising again, and this time he let them fall. He hugged Steve tightly to him and took deep breaths to try and hide the tears, but he didn’t last long. Steve just hugged him until he was finished, then he pulled back. 

“C’mon Buck. Let’s finish our supper and go to bed, yeah?” He bumped Bucky’s shoulder again, and for a moment he was just that young man from Brooklyn, the one who used to stick his ice cold toes between Bucky’s legs without hesitation if his socks slipped in the winter. Bucky smiled.

“Yeah, okay, Stevie. Okay.”

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★

The days crept on toward Christmas, but Bucky couldn’t relax. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wasn’t sleeping, even though crawling into bed with Steve each night was the highlight of his day. But Steve had responsibilities, and Bucky had _therapy_. The S.H.I.E.L.D. approved therapist was attempting to find his triggers and help him to avoid them. It was exhausting.

He’d met some of the other team members. Stark mostly pissed him off, Dr. Banner seemed nice enough but way too smart for Bucky, and Romanov kept looking at him like she knew something he didn’t. It was unsettling. Clint and Phil were by far their most common visitors, but Bucky knew that was mostly because they were checking in on Steve. What else would it be? They didn’t know him from Adam.

Earlier that day, on Christmas Eve no less, a big tree arrived in their living room. Steve had been thrilled to set it up and decorate it. Bucky had gone along, but his heart wasn’t in it. Every time he lifted an ornament, he expected to see blood dripping from his fingers. He was a _murderer_ , and he didn’t know how Steve couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see that it was _his body_ that did it, even if it wasn’t his mind.

Clint tried, once, to tell him about something that happened during The Battle of New York. Bucky could hear the capital letters. He’d talked about Loki, and the tesseract, and the helicarrier. But what he hadn’t talked about was the torture. The bone deep _fear_. How sometimes just sitting in the dining room chair took every ounce of Bucky’s willpower because he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be trapped. How static electricity could be enough to knock him on his ass because he was _sure_ some nameless handler had finally tracked him down, and they were _pissed_. How he was sure Steve would come to his senses and find someone not so fucked up to spend the rest of his life with.

He stood in the living room, shivering slightly in just his shirt sleeves and bare feet. Even though Jarvis usually kept it warm, Bucky had turned the temperature down. No need to waste money heating that big old room just for himself, no matter how much money Stark had. He swirled the eggnog in his glass, looking out over the twinkling lights of New York City. Jarvis was playing a video of a fire in the fireplace, not that Bucky was paying any attention. He was too busy lost in thought, wondering how long until the Avengers finally decided having one of Hydra’s goons, willing or not, living in their headquarters was a Bad Idea. 

“There you are, Buck.” Steve’s voice startled him out of his reverie, and he turned. 

“Hey Stevie,” he said, lifting his arm as though to chafe his shoulders for warmth. He stopped when he remembered his hand was made of metal and would just make things worse. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s twelve thirty, I was just wondering when you were coming to bed…” Steve crossed the living room to the windows and pulled Bucky into his arms. He rubbed the good arm as strongly as he could for a few moments, to warm him up. “God. It’s freezing down here. Why don’t you have Jarvis turn up the heat?”

“What? No, no... “ Bucky turned in Steve’s arms, stepping away a little. “I’m fine, Steve. You can go on to bed.” He sipped his eggnog, not looking back. If he did, Steve would definitely figure it out, and then he wouldn’t leave.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

 _Damn it_. If Steve wasn’t going, that meant that he knew Bucky wasn’t exactly having… Wholesome thoughts. He never let Bucky be alone if he figured out that his brain wasn’t thinking happy enough thoughts. 

Suddenly, a fleecy blanket settled around his shoulders and Bucky reached for it automatically. He had to admit that the warmth felt good. “What are you thinking about? And don’t tell me ‘nothing’...” Steve poked him in the side firmly. “I know it wasn’t good if you’re out here brooding alone. You didn’t even turn on the lights from the Christmas tree!” That was saying something, Bucky had to admit. He had loved few things in this century more than he had those little strings of glowing light. There was just something meditative about them.

“You’re right.” Bucky sighed. “If I tell you, you’ve gotta promise not to get mad at me, Steve. That’s what my therapist says.” 

Steve chuckled; he’d gone to more than a few of those sessions himself. “I understand. No getting mad, or laughing. I just… I do want to know.”

Bucky licked his lips. “It’s… It’s stupid, okay? That’s what everyone keeps telling me. It’s stupid. But I’m just waiting for you to realize how much better off you’d be without me, and kick me out.”

“What!” Steve put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes. “Buck… Do you really think that? That I’ll toss you out when I find a better offer?” The hurt he felt slipped into his tone, just a little, and Bucky shrugged.

“I told you it was stupid, Steve. I’ll get over it. Just… Not tonight.”

Steve shook his head. “Buck… I didn’t know you were feeling that way.” He blew out a long breath. “Look. There’s something I didn’t tell you, about how I ended up here.” He hesitated. “I probably should have, but… It’s not nice, and it’s not something I like to think about, okay?”

“Okay… Stevie, you’re scaring me.” Bucky searched Steve’s gaze, and then allowed himself to be led to sit on the couch, blanket trailing behind him like a cape. When they sat down, he pulled it around himself a little more tightly. “Okay Punk, spill.”

For all the lead up, Steve didn’t start talking right away. He gripped Bucky’s hand, and took a long minute just staring at their joined fingers. Bucky shivered as he rubbed his thumb over Steve’s mark. The warm sparks, like starlight in his soul, helped him to relax and wait patiently. He wasn’t sure if it was helping Steve, though, because his lover just looked more and more tense.

“When you died, Buck… Something changed for me. Something bad. I didn’t care if I lived or died… You can ask Peggy, she’ll tell you. Or Phil; I’m pretty sure he knows every Howling Commandos fact that ever existed.” He stopped, blushing slightly, but when he continued, it seemed like everything just kept coming, spilling out like a rush. “Sorry. Rambling. My point is, it was bad. And I didn’t exactly respond well.I fought, took on the toughest men I could. Every suicide mission, every chance to fight death, to lose…” He swallowed again, licking his lips slightly. “Buck, you were _dead_ and I _wasn’t_ and that just felt so _unfair_. So I existed, and I did my duty. And when the time came to keep that Tesseract out of reach forever,I took it.”

“You...Stevie. No. Stevie, tell me you didn’t do what I think you’re saying.” Suicide was a mortal sin. The idea of _Steve_ not making it to heaven was ludicrous. 

“I crashed the plane, Buck. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t live without you.” He pulled on Bucky’s hand, until he could press it against his own chest. “You feel that? That belongs to you. Because without you, none of this means anything.” He swallowed, and stood up. He tugged again, and Bucky dropped the blanket as he stood as well. “I love you, Buck. ‘Til the end of the line.” 

Steve leaned in for a kiss, and Bucky tipped up his mouth to receive it. He smiled as they broke apart, seeing snow beginning to fall outside of the window behind Steve. “I love you, too, Stevie. Until the end of the line. But you better never do a damn fool thing like that again, you hear me?” The anger melted away, though, as he watched Steve, so close, his lips cherry red and shiny from their kiss a moment before. He licked his lips and stepped closer. “Steve… Will you dance with me?”

Some of the pain dropped away from Steve’s face, and he nodded. “I’d love to, Buck.” He slid one hand down around Bucky’s waist, drawing him into a loose embrace, the other staying joined to his hand. Jarvis began to play without being asked, and Steve smiled. 

_The very thought of you_  
_And I forget to do_  
_The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do_  
_I'm living in a kind of daydream_  
_I'm happy as a king_  
_And foolish though it may seem to me that's everything_

Just like he always had before, Bucky sang along softly with Nathaniel Prince, guiding Steve slowly through a swaying dance in the living room. They had a lot more space than they ever had, but they still just swayed side to side with small steps in the space in front of the couch. 

Like he had when he was smaller, Steve dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. They swayed quietly a long time. “I love you so much,” Steve whispered, and Bucky nodded.

“You too, Steve… You too.” He wasn’t better. Bucky knew that; even with his deepest fears out in the open, they had a long way to go. But for once, he didn’t think it was so impossible. He took another deep breath, nipping small kisses along Steve’s jawline until he reached his lips and he could draw him in for another perfect, breathless meeting. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

“Merry Christmas, Buck.”

It wasn’t better, no, and he wasn’t healed. He knew there was a long way to go. But it was a start.

_The mere idea of you_  
_The longing here for you_  
_You never know how slow the moments go_  
_Till I'm near to you_  
_I see your face in every flower_  
_Your eyes in stars above_  
_It's just the thought of you_  
_The very thought of you_  
_My love_

**The End**

★°☆°★°☆°★°☆°★


End file.
